Temptation Builds
by electricsoul20
Summary: While her mother has gone holidaying on her honeymoon, Ana is sent to live with Christian Grey, her new father's brother. Expecting someone similar to Bob, Ana instead finds he's infuriatingly handsome & controlling. What happens, when, in cohabitation, attraction turns into temptation? What does Christian want with Ana staying? Defiant Ana/Older controlling Christian.Dark slowburn
1. Chapter 1

**Temptation Builds**

My mother, Carla, decided that she would have a six month long honeymoon immediately after her wedding with her four year long boyfriend, Bob. She had arranged for me to go live with this 'estranged Uncle' I now apparently had through inheritance of marriage- Bob's brother. Husband Number Two, Ray, and the man I consider to be my true father isn't doing very well, and he's in-and-out of hospital battling pancreatic cancer currently so staying with him wasn't an option unfortunately.

So it was to be quickly arranged that I go live with this supposed Uncle of mine while she and Bob were alone on some remote island sipping margaritas and getting sunburned. When ever I would ask her where her and Bob were planning to go, she'd actually be elusive. She'd tell me, "Ana, it isn't the destination that matters, honey. It's more so the experience." After a while and being constantly evasive, I took it as a hint that she didn't really want to tell me where her and Bob had planned to go. It kind of hurt that she didn't want to trust me, but at the same time, I could understand. All that matters is that her and Bob are happy, and that they have a great time together.

The wedding was great, at least. My mother let me play a more active role in being one of her bridesmaids, and I finally got to witness firsthand how truly happy Bob made her. Then Bob spent the time reassuring me that his brother was a great person, that I'd have fun staying with him because he is supposedly very cultured and runs his own business; that he's supposedly the youngest of the family and he lives in a very nice set-up.

I wasn't very enthused to have to live with a stranger for a full six months, to say the least. But Ray would check-in now and again, making sure I was all right. Carla and Bob, too. Bob and Carla had assured me that his brother would be waiting to pick me up from the airport, holding one of those embarrassing high-lighter orange signs with my name on it so I see him, that it'll be great.

So here, I am, already on a plane to Seattle. It isn't so hard. I think its the turbulence and taking off and landing that frightens me the most. Fortunately, I was allowed to bring a book with me to read while on the two hour journey to Seattle. Reading my favorite book, Tess of the D'Urbervilles by Thomas Hardy ends up being the good distraction I need. I also brought my iPod on the plane with me, just in case I begin to get bored with reading. I just hope this person actually turns up and that I won't be stranded at the airport. I know it's ridiculous to think like that, because I hardly think Bob and my own mother would lie about it, but you never know, I guess.

The light goes on, signalling that every passenger must put their seat belts back on as we prepare to land, and I take a deep breath, shutting my book and clicking my belt back on. This is the part I dread.

I end up keeping my eyes tightly closed while the plane lands. It's less nerve-wracking that way. We bumped down once, twice, three times, and then it seemed to go a bit more smoother on the landing strip, so it wasn't as bad as I had anticipated it was.

Once allowed to finally vacate, I grab my small bag out of the luggage compartment, shoving my book and my iPod back into it.

Tricky part came next, in finding my bags. As it turns out, I spot my suitcase fairly quickly, wheeling my suitcase through the area where people wait to be picked up by their loved ones, glancing around nervously. Already, at this hour in the morning, the airport is busy with people crying, happy to see their significant others or babies wailing, just desperate to get home.

I bite by lip as I glance around nervously, noticing a person holding a sign. It doesn't say 'Anastasia' on it, though. Instead, it says 'Emily'. Clearly not me.

Remembering I'm allowed to switch my phone on now, I drop my bag at my Converse sneakers, bending down while unzipping it. I find my phone, and I switch it on, glancing around me again as people rush on past, carrying their bags and wheeling their luggage carts.

I glance up again, and then, I see it.

A sign, about five meters ahead of me, held high in the air. 'Anastasia Steele', it says, in neon pink highlighter. Quickly standing, I begin pushing and maneuvering my suitcase towards him, pushing past a crowd of people hugging and crying. The crowd disperses and... _is that really him? Can that be him?_

The man's a lot older than I was expecting, though Bob is fifty three, or so I think my mother told me anyway. He's dressed in a tailored, light blue suit, very snazzy looking, with a light beard and an auburn buzz-cut. He sort of looks like an intimidating military man.

He lowers the obnoxious sign as he meets my gaze while I smile at him nervously.

"Excuse me, but are you Bob Grey's younger brother? I'm Ana Steele."

"Actually, something came up with Mr Grey. I'm here on an errand to collect you." He looks me over with his light eyes and a warm smile, although even smiling, he still seems rather intimidating. "I'm Jason Taylor, ma'am."

"Oh. Okay?"

Startling me, he reaches out, grabbing my suitcase to wheel it along.

"Oh, you really don't have to do that," I begin to protest, but its too late.

He insists, and then I follow closely behind him, struggling to keep up. Out the double doors of the airport and onto the busy street, he guides me over a pedestrian crossing to where a shining, black new model Mercedes is waiting for us. This must be our car, because he opens it up for me.

Jason Taylor doesn't speak much as I sit in and get comfortable in the backseat. He shuts the door then I turn around, watching him anxiously as he opens the boot of the car, stowing my suitcase inside. He really didn't have to go through so much trouble; I could have easily done it myself.

The drive is spent in utter, uncomfortable silence while Jason Taylor drives, weaving in and out of Seattle's busy mid-morning traffic. I find myself gnawing on my fingernails nervously, looking out the window while occasionally meeting his gaze in the mirror. I really wish he would say something. Or put on some music even, at the very least. I could do with some music to ease my nerves.

"Um, so who is Robert's younger brother if it's not you?" I force myself to ask.

"That's Mr Grey, ma'am. Christian. Unfortunately he got called in for an unscheduled business meeting, so he sent me off in his place." I suppose that makes sense, but I still feel uneasy not knowing who this Christian guy is, aside from him being my mother's new husbands brother.

"And what's he like? Christian?"

"He's a decent man, ma'am," Jason Taylor simply says. And that's it. Decent, as though that explains everything.

Just to distract myself, I peer out of the window again, looking up at the sky. Seattle really is far different from where I grew up. It seems busier, with taller buildings. I wonder if it will rain later. It certainly looks that way, considering how dark and cloudy it appears outside.

Jason Taylor lets me know we're near to our destination when he signals into an underground area. "We'll just go up to Mr Grey's personal garage, and then I'll help you take your luggage up, ma'am."

It's like a winding route up numerous garage floors, then he indicates into a spot of one filled with several cars of different makes and models, all new looking and clean. I wonder who all these cars belong to, but don't have the heart to ask about it. Once he parks smoothly into a spot, Jason Taylor exits the car, holding my door open for me.

I climb out rather ungraciously while slipping the straps of my backpack over my shoulders, then he closes up the door, heading behind the car to get my luggage out. I still really wish he would just let me cart my own suitcase around. It isn't that heavy; just with all my clothes, some books, and personal care items for my stay, as well as eight hundred dollars that my mother gave me for food.

Once the car is securely locked up, Jason guides me to an elevator. He has to insert a key card, then as we enter in, when the mechanical doors slot closed, he has to insert it again, pressing the button up to top level floor, penthouse suite.

Once the elevator dings to the floor, Jason Taylor has to tap in a security number into the keypad, and then the doors slowly open. I hesitate before following him. Already, this entire thing seems rather grand, especially if it said we were going to be on the top floor in a penthouse suite.

The elevators open up into a large, all-white foyer. A man is standing near a white armchair. He merely nods Jason's way before letting us walk past. I look back at the man anxiously, noticing he's dressed much like Taylor in a fancy suit. Is he something of a security guard?

"This way, please, ma'am," Jason Taylor says, holding open a set of doors, but I get distracted looking at the walls.

They are decorated with abstract, interesting paintings. There's a small table with a light blue vase and white flowers on it.

As I wander through the doors, I can feel the breath leaving me. The room opens up into an even larger setting. White themed tile floors, all pristine and shining. A wide corridor. Furthest to where I've walked in, it is surrounded by windows that open up onto a balcony that showcases the view of Seattle from high up. Whoever this Christian Grey is that I'm staying with, he is obviously rich by the looks of it. Sickly rich.

I loiter into what must be the living room area. There's a huge flat-screen TV, probably the hugest I have ever seen, next to an indoor electric fireplace. An electric fire is already on and flickering gently, radiating a pleasant heat around the room. And right in the center of that TV is an equally as huge white U-shaped sofa that could probably seat eleven people. A large modern stereo system on the wall. More paintings.

My sneakers squeak against the pristine floor as I head around the room, looking at everything. I enter into another room that opens up to be a kitchen, with stainless steel, neat-looking electric ovens and white granite benches. The refrigerator is stainless steel, double door, and my curiosity getting the better of me, I open it, glancing in at the contents of this man's fridge.

It's fully stocked with juices, bottles of water, cans of cokes, and fruit and vegetables, among other things. I wonder if it always looks like this. Doesn't this man eat or does someone come in every day to replace what he's already used?

Near the refrigerator on a bench is a wine rack, with various unopened bottles of wine. A fruit bowl with shiny green apples. This guy is seriously lucky.

Someone clears their throat from behind me curtly, and I jump. It's Jason Taylor, catching me out snooping.

"I'll show you to your bedroom, ma'am," he says, and I follow him obediently with an apologetic laugh.

He guides me up a flight of stairs. On the way up, I notice a grand piano near a window. Up the stairs we go, along a narrow hallway, then he opens a door for me. This room is just as amazing- and I gasp as I walk into it, shocked that it's all for me and it's where I'll be sleeping for the next six months. There's a large double bed, larger than the one I have at home, covered in a sleek satin purple duvet. All furniture is white- pretty much a running theme of the house. White headboard, white antique armchair by the window. White curtains, white dresser with mirror.

"Where would you like your suitcase, ma'am?" Jason Taylor asks, breaking me out of my amazement.

"Oh, just right there on the floors fine, thank you. I'll sort out my belongings now."

"Very well." He sets my suitcase on the ground, then nods at me once. Then, confusing me, he leaves the room, leaving me in privacy. I stare after him before I try to keep busy, looking around the room while unzipping my suitcase, pulling out my belongings.

I discover there is another door to the left wall that opens up into what must be my own personal bathroom. Not surprisingly, it's all white tiles and large bathtub. I find myself excited to use the bath.

I still don't know when I am going to meet Robert's younger brother, though. But the fact that he owns and can afford such a glorious house- it's amazing.

By two in the afternoon, I've unpacked everything. I've put my clothes neatly in the dresser and have put my shampoo and conditioner bottles, my toothpaste and toothbrush in the bathroom.

Not sure what to do now, I decide to go investigating again. Maybe even check out the view on the balcony. As I head back downstairs, I look at everything in the penthouse again. It is so amazing and, staying here, it will be like a holiday within itself. Who knew people actually lived like this full-time?

Reaching the sliding door that heads out onto the balcony, I unlock it, helping myself out. I stand by the railing, gripping it tight. The view is mind-blowing. High up, I see everything. All the tall skyscrapers, the dark and gloomy clouds in the sky. It's amazing.

I scare myself when I peer straight down through the railing, feeling instant vertigo coming on. I'm not exactly terrified of heights, but it feels rather daunting, how high up I am. I can see tiny little cars and traffic moving. Minuscule pedestrians walking.

Suddenly, I hear voices from inside. Men. I think one is Jason Taylor.

"She's arrived?"

"Yes, sir."

"And she seems to be settling in okay?"

"As far as I know, she is, Mr Grey, sir."

 _Mr Grey. He's here._

Taking in a deep breath, I turn, leaning my back against the railing, peering in through the glass on the balcony sliding doors. That's when I see him. I have to wonder if my eyes are deceiving me because he- Mr Grey- looks a lot younger than I was expecting. Bob may be in his fifties, but his youngest brother, he barely looks in his early thirties by what I can see of him. He must have noticed I was standing outside because, suddenly, he steps out onto the balcony, and my heart thumps wildly at the sight of him.

"Anastasia?" He extends a long-fingered hand out to me, and pulling myself together, I step forward to shake it.

"Um, yes. I'm Ana. Carla's daughter." My voice sounds wrong and I have to clear it. "You must be her new husband Bob's younger brother?"

"Yes, I am. Christian. It's a pleasure to meet you."

First thing I notice, is that he is extremely attractive. Dressed in a fine dark grey business suit, white shirt, with a grey tie. His hair is dark, copper colored, ruffling in the breeze on the balcony. I wasn't expecting Bob's brother to look like him at all.

It takes me a moment to find my voice. "Wow," I mutter without thinking. "I mean, you weren't what I was expecting Bob's brother to look like?" I feel stupid saying it, but fortunately for me, he just smiles, a friendly, warm smile that dazzles me.

"Trust me, I get that a lot. But we're not actually related, Bob and I."

"Oh, you aren't?" That's the first time I've heard of that.

"No, Robert was adopted into the family, same as me."

"Oh. I haven't known Bob long enough to know that, so that's probably why," I murmur. I can't believe my mother didn't tell me that or fill me in, though I suppose it isn't a big deal, the fact Bob was adopted. I try to remember if I saw this man attending Mom and Bob's wedding; I don't think he did. He surely wouldn't be a face you forget easily once introduced to. "Bob and my mother seem very happy together. I don't think I remember seeing you at the wedding?"

"That's because I wasn't there. I couldn't make it, unfortunately. I had... a busy work schedule to deal with."

I realize we're still shaking hands, gripping onto each others. We've probably gone over the length of time and and number of shakes necessary for a handshake to be considered polite and formal. My cheeks flush as I realize I quite like him touching me with his hands. What a strange way to feel about somebody I literally have never met before, not to mention inappropriate, given the age difference and how he is Bob's brother and all that. He must notice the same time as I do, because he clears his throat, moving his hand away. He tucks both hands into his trouser pockets instead.

"So you'll be staying here for six months?" he asks, and his gray eyes are intense, captivating. They really hold you in, and seemingly effortlessly.

"Um, yes. Six months while my mother and Bob are honeymooning." Striving for something else to say, I glance meaningfully back into his penthouse through the glass. "Your house is very impressive," I say quietly. "I've never seen a house look so great. You're very lucky."

He shrugs, as if brushing my compliment off, his gaze still on mine. I cannot believe how good-looking he is, particularly as a relative to Bob. "Taylor showed you your bedroom?" he asks me with some concern.

"Um, yes, he did. Thank you so much for letting me stay here, by the way."

"It was the least I could do for Bob," he says with another shrug. "You should grow to like it here."

"By the looks of it, I'm sure I will." I can definitely see myself enjoying it here.

"I have a few rules for you staying here," he says and my heart seems to stop. Great, rules. I wonder what rules they may be. "Simply precautionary measures for your safety, that sort of thing." He clears his throat again. "Well, I suppose I should leave and let you get more settled in. Excuse me." Before I can even tell him that I'm already pretty much settled, he turns around on the spot, heading back inside.

When I watch him through the glass, though trying not to be obvious about it, I see he's holding his phone in his hand, thumbing through what is probably his text messages.

Wow, though. I really was not expecting this at all.

 **This is my first time writing a 50 Shades fiction and my return to writing FF after a long hiatus so I am probably a bit rusty at this. If you are interested in more of this idea, I would very much like to know what you think. :-D Hope it doesn't matter that I changed things around a bit, such as Bob being adopted into the Grey family as well. It's just for the story. Christian will be his usual controlling, protective self over Ana, blurring lines while they live together.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Wow, thank you so much for such welcoming response to this! Hope you enjoy this chapter! :-)**

 **It may be a bit slow and introductory, I am just trying to build into the story and their characters. Hope that is okay. Let me know.**

 **And to answer questions, Christian is 31 Ana-17. I know the age difference is questionable but I hope that won't matter if they are two consenting people.**

 **Chapter Two Temptation Builds**

Heading back inside, I close the sliding door fully shut gently, looking around again.

 _Hmm, and he seems to have disappeared on me. This Christian._

I could have sworn he was there a few seconds ago, checking his phone, and now he's gone? Where? I hear someone moving about in the kitchen and, assuming it's him, I walk towards it, my Converses squeaking loudly against the polished tiles, announcing me. Only it isn't him. It's an older woman; Her hair is tied neatly in a bun as she grabs a few vegetables out of the fridge.

"Um, hello?" I greet shyly.

At the sound of my voice, she drops the vegetables on the granite counter, giving me a friendly smile. "Oh, you must be Anastasia? Mr Grey informed me that you would be staying for several months?"

"Yes, I'm Ana. I don't believe we've been introduced?"

"Hi, I'm Gail." When I blink at her in confusion, she laughs. "I'm Mr Grey's housemaid. I'm the one in charge of making sure that man eats and doesn't waste away into nothing, while also ensuring that his house is spotless for visitors that are going to stay such as yourself."

"Oh, so you're his maid?" So not only does he have a man like this Jason Taylor who picked me up on his behalf at the airport, but he also has employed a maid as well, who does both his cooking and cleaning? Suddenly, that doesn't surprise me. Of course he'd have a personal maid then, given the extravagance of his house. It's just seriously, overly rich. "How come he doesn't cook and clean for himself?"

"Well, Mr Grey is an extremely busy man. It's difficult for him to find the time."

"And what's keeping him so busy exactly?" I ask. I'm not trying to be rude. I'm just trying to properly understand.

"Well, I don't know if you're aware or not, dear, but Mr Grey is responsible for running one of the top leading telecommunication businesses in the world. That means his time is extremely limited."

He runs one of the top leading telecommunication businesses in the world? I feel like I've been lying under a rock for the past week. This wasn't mentioned to me at all from Bob when he explained to me that I would be living with his brother for the next six months while they went away honeymooning. He only simply said that his brother was a businessman and that he had a nice set-up, not that he was successful and rich enough to own a huge, fancy place like this.

It's so odd. My Mother and her new husband just pushed me off into living with Bob's youngest brother, and I don't even know anything all that much about him. Bob hasn't told me he was adopted, or what his siblings did, or anything about his family. Mostly, our get-together's with him and my Mother consisted of us doing things like going shopping together or eating lunch. Bob never spoke about his family at all, not even that he had an adopted brother who lived like this.

"Is there anything you don't like to eat, dear?" Gail asks, tearing me out of my thoughts.

Clearly Bob and my mother haven't filled them in about this little arrangement as well. "Actually, I'm trying to be vegan." I smile at her apologetically.

Gail blinks at me, like vegan is a foreign word to her.

"Basically, I can't eat any meat or anything with animal products in it," I explain with a laugh.

"Right. So eggs and milk are off-limits then?"

"Yes, unfortunately they are. Is that okay?"

"Oh, that's fine," she assures me. I know that sometimes my lifestyle choice can be a bit tricky for people, but fortunately she seems accepting. "I'll have to get you to write me down a list of what you can or cannot have so I'll know what to get at the grocery store next time, dear."

What? So he doesn't even do his own shopping?

"I see you're getting acquainted well with Gail, my personal chef and housemaid." Suddenly, he enters the room, looking more casual in a light blue dress shirt and trousers. It's a little odd not seeing him with a suit on now.

"Yes, Mr Grey. And _somebody here_ was also just informing me that she's a vegan," Gail says, grabbing a sharp kitchen knife as she starts slicing up vegetables with precision and skill.

I feel myself flush a little when Christian glances my way questioningly. "So you're a vegan?"

"Yes, I am. Well, I've been trying to be, anyway. That means no animal products, no milk or eggs."

He nods. "I'm sure Gail will be able to work around that."

"Oh, definitely, sir. I love a challenge."

"I'm so sorry," I laugh nervously. I give her another sheepish smile. "I just assumed that my mother and Bob would have filled you in?"

"It's fine," Christian assures me. "Shall I give you a tour of the house?"

"Um, Jason already sort of gave me one."

"Did he explain where everything was?"

"Not really."

"Then come. I'll show you while Gail gets dinner prepared."

I follow after him, and he leads me to the large TV, explaining where the remote is and how to switch it on. Then, on the large entertainment unit its perched on, he bends down, pulling open a drawer. There's multiple DVD's in there of various titles.

"If you're bored, there is plenty of films to watch," he explains, running his long fingers down a neat stack of them. Then done showing me, he closes the drawer back up, leading me upstairs down the hallway. He stops at the entryway of where my bedroom is going to be, turning to glance at me. I feel myself flush as I meet his gaze. He's really good-looking. Even just by him looking at me, I feel weird. "This, as Taylor no doubt explained, is where you'll be sleeping. Your bedroom."

"Yes."

He leads me down to another door which is closed. He tries the doorknob and it doesn't open. "This room, is off-limits and will always be locked," he says simply. "Only I have the key to it."

Oh. Always locked? "But what's in there?" I ask breathlessly, unable to hide my curiosity.

"Nothing you need to be concerned about. Follow me." As I follow him while glancing at the closed door curiously, he lifts both arms, brushing his spread fingers down and across the walls while he walks ahead of me. He stops at another door, but this time its opened. "This one, if you ever feel inspired to do some physical activity, is available to you and free for you to use whenever you like."

I glance in, biting down on my lip. _Wow, he even has his very own personal gym_. There's a treadmill by the window. A weights machine. A red yoga mat on the floor, as well as a boxing bag hanging and hooked off the ceiling.

"It's very impressive," I murmur. I'm not much of an exerciser but that might change if I can do it here indoors away from any prying eyes. He hasn't shown me where he sleeps yet. "So where's your bedroom then?"

"I sleep downstairs. I also have a study where I work from time to time when I'm away from the office."

Gail, his maid's words come back to me. I still cannot believe I wasn't told. "Gail said you're responsible for running a successful telecommunications company?"

"Yes, that's right. I'm head CEO of Grey Enterprises Holdings. We deal with mainly the telecommunications side of it, but we're striving to expand into a few other areas as well." I feel so stupid that I don't even know what half of what he is saying means.

"So it's like a full-time work scenario?"

"Yes, it is. I'm extremely busy. You probably won't see me much during the mornings, aside from on weekends, which is why you'll have to find ways to preoccupy yourself. Gail also works early mornings and late afternoons, so there will be a chunk of time there where you'll be left alone."

Left alone in his huge extravagant house?

"And so what do you like to do when you're not working? How do you... chill out?"

"'Chill out'?" He smiles at my words, my way of putting it. I'm not sure whether to feel embarrassed by that, or to feel paranoid that he's making fun of me. But how else was I meant to put that question? "Usually, when I have time free, I like to 'chill out' by doing various hobbies. Exercising, sailing. Taking it easy. That sort of thing."

I suppose our tour is complete. He starts walking back down the hallway and I follow him.

"I saw a piano downstairs? Do you like to play that, too, as one of your hobbies to chill out with?"

"Yes, that's another way I like to 'chill out', by playing the piano." It sounds funny the way he says it, and how he says it with his voice. He says it in an exaggerated, teasing way, like he's definitely teasing me. "So, what do you like to do to 'chill out'?"

I laugh at him, unable to help it. But he seems pleased that I am laughing. I see a ghost of a smile on his lips. "Well, I like to read. Or listen to my iPod. That's how I mainly like to chill out., although that sounds rather boring and tame compared to you, what with your sailing and your piano playing." He ignores my dig.

"What music do you like listening to?" he asks me, interested, as we step back downstairs. He starts walking towards where the stereo system is on the wall, beckoning me to follow.

"Any sort of music, really. Pop, hip-hop. The old classics. I have a varied taste in-" My breath gets caught in my throat when I see how many CD's he has. He has to have over a hundred CD's stacked on a rack. "Wow," I whisper in shock. "Are these all yours?"

"They are. I suppose you could say my taste in music is extremely varied as well."

"I'm so envious," I cannot help gushing. I stand closer, reading some of the CD's. He really has everything. Old classics, to orchestral music. Beethoven, Mozart. "I wish I had this many CD's."

"You can play them whenever you like. Although, if I'm working in my study, I do ask that you keep it down to a reasonable level so that I can concentrate."

"Of course," I agree, my eyes glued to reading all the artists in his collection.

"So why did you decide to be vegan?" he asks suddenly, and when I tear my eyes away from his amazing CD collection, I see he's eyeing me with his head slightly tilted to this side. He's merely curious and wanting to know, I guess.

"I guess I just... it felt like the right thing to do." I shrug, a bit lost for words, not used to having to explain all my life decisions to someone. "I started reading more and more about factory farming and the treatment the animals have to endure. It just seemed like... a commonsense thing to try to do after reading all of that."

"So you're passionate about animals?" I've never really had someone seem so interested in me as a person before. It's nice.

"I am, although... my mother likes to tease me that it's just a phase that I'm going through."

"And how old are you?" I don't know why he's interrogating me all of a sudden. It's quite intimidating.

"Um, I'm seventeen," I reply. "But I'll be eighteen next year. How old are you?"

He hesitates for some reason, pursing his lips. "I'm thirty one," he finally says, gauging my reaction. "Go on, say it," he prompts quietly, playfully.

"Say what?"

"Say that I'm old."

I laugh. "I don't find thirty one to be all that old, to be honest," I admit truthfully. Then I bite my lip, peering up at him curiously, a mischievous impulse darting through me. "Although, in comparison to me, you _are_ pretty ancient."

"Ouch," he mouths, feigning a wince, like I've personally assaulted him. But he smiles afterwards and his eyes twinkle with good humor, letting me know he's joking as well. I realize I'm sort of trying to flirt with him. Or maybe it's the other way around, and he's flirting with me. Or maybe I'm just reading too much into it, and he's just trying to be nice?

 _My new father's brother,_ I have to remind myself _. Bob's brother, Bob's brother, Bob's brother._

"Did they tell you where they were going or did they keep it a secret too?" I cannot help asking. It's really bothering me, how my Mom and Bob are keeping the whereabouts of their six month honeymoon secret from me.

"Who's that?" he asks, blinking in confusion.

"My Mom and your brother? Did they tell you whereabouts it was that they were planning to spend their honeymoon exactly?"

He frowns, shaking his head at me. _Hmm, him too. They're keeping him in the dark too._

I feel a horrible sting of sadness overcome me. "Well, that sucks then," I mutter stiffly. "My mother and I are usually really close. Usually she tells me everything." I flush, glancing up at him, realizing how childish I'm being. Last thing he probably wants to have to do is console me over one of my mood swings. "I guess that's life though, huh? Things change when other people enter people's lives?" I just hate that she couldn't even tell me where she was going.

He glances away from me, down at his sock-clad feet. I sense he feels uncomfortable by my outburst. "Let's go see if Gail's done with dinner," he suggests gently. "You must be hungry."

"I am a little."

We enter the kitchen area to find Gail has already set the dinner table up. I wonder if she always does this for him, if she does this for him every single night when he comes home from work.

She's muted the kitchen lights and has lit two red candles on each side of the table, throwing flickering shadows across the walls. Two plates are already there, with silverware set out and a chilled jug of water with two glasses. One plate, with a thick slab of what looks like salmon and vegetables. Another, vegetables drizzled in some sort of sauce-obviously for me, the vegan, the non-meat-eater.

"Sorry if it's hard," I find myself apologizing yet again. "Me, not eating meat."

"I'm sure it's fine." He strides forward to hold my chair open for me. I'm so not used to being around someone who seems so formal with their manners, like we're in a restaurant or something, rather than at his house. I sit, and he nudges my chair in gently. "No doubt, Gail will love the challenge."

"Thank you so much again for letting me stay here," I murmur when he sits across from me. He grabs the napkin Gail has folded and set out near his plate, and he shakes it open before stuffing it around the collar of his shirt. I almost break out with laughter, because it's just so strange and alien from what I'm used to. "Do you always do that?" I ask, unable to hide my amusement as I pick up the fork and knife that is evidently left for me.

"Do what?" He asks, obviously feigning confusion.

"You know, with your napkin like that." Trying not to laugh while I do it, I set my fork and knife against my plate. Imitating him and trying to act very posh, I shake out the napkin next to my elbow, then push it beneath the neck of my shirt.

He watches my every movement carefully, then he has to press his lips together to stifle down his own laughter. "Yes," he answers after a moment, and although he tries to sound serious, he fails. His voice shakes with amusement. "I do always do that with my napkin first, Anastasia."

"Why?" I end up laughing at him, which I know is probably rude. I just can't help it. At least he isn't offended, though.

"Well, why would I want to risk ruining a perfectly good and clean Emporio Armani shirt?"

I have to press my lips together, but my body shakes with uncontrolled laughter. I shouldn't be making fun of him, but I just can't help it. "Is that business shirt really expensive?"

"It was two hundred dollars, Anastasia. So yes, I think it's safe to say that it is expensive."

My eyes widen in disbelief. "Holy crap. That much for _one_ shirt?"

He nods once, leaning over the table to start filling up two glasses of chilled water for us from the jug. "Yes."

"I'm sorry, but that's... ridiculous. That much for just a shirt?"

"Well, I can afford these luxuries."

"Clearly," I mumble, thanking him as he sets a glass of water beside my plate. "I mean, even judging by your house, you're clearly extremely well-off?"

"I get paid around one hundred thousand dollars an hour, so yes, I suppose I am," he mutters in agreement, a sardonic edge there in his tone.

He picks up his silverware and begins cutting through his slab of salmon, while I pick up my fork and knife too, slicing through a vegetable, dipping it in the sauce drizzling.

"Wow," I gush, still unable to believe it. "One hundred thousand dollars an hour is very impressive?" I take a bite out of a piece of bean curiously, testing the sauce. Surprisingly, it's delicious. Gail did really well. Vegetables by themselves could be bland, but she's created a sauce that's very rich and tangy. "Gail is good at cooking," I comment in appreciation. "The sauce tastes amazing."

"I told you she would like the challenge, Anastasia. But I'll let her know that you approve of her cooking. She'll be pleased to hear it."

I glance up while chewing, finding him watching me intently for some reason while he eats as well.

My eyes flit to his mouth, the way he chews, the way his jaw works, then I force myself to glance back down at my food quickly. What am I doing?

I look at the shadows dancing on the wall across from me, all due to the candlelight. It's quite distracting. "Does she always do this for you, too? In setting your table like this?"

"Not like this," he mutters through a mouth of salmon. He swallows, then adds, "Hardly ever like this. Not with the candles."

 _Hmm, why change that now just because I'm staying here?_ It seems almost like a romantic setting, like we're in a restaurant, having an intimate dinner together. I almost snort at the thought. What would I even know about romantic dinners? I'm probably overthinking it and being silly.

"Usually I eat alone," Christian explains quietly. When I bring my eyes up to him again, I watch as he reaches out, taking his glass. He takes a few sips of his chilled water.

"You never have company over or anything?" I find that so hard to believe. "Well, gee. If I had a house like this, I'd never be alone. I'd be inviting people over every day. Maybe even throw parties every weekend."

Christian places his glass back down on the table, dabbing at the corner of his mouth with his napkin. "You'll see one day, once you get older, that... the appeal gets lost on you. The idea of throwing parties or... having people over. You start to cherish silence and being in your own company a lot more."

"That sounds depressing," I mutter, shoving another bean inside my mouth.

Christian stares at me for a moment, deep in thought. Then he shrugs, glancing down at his plate, slicing a bean. "Perhaps, it _is_ depressing. Perhaps you're right."

"So, do you at least have a girlfriend to spend some time with?" I blurt out without thinking.

"I don't," he answers. "Girlfriends can be... time consuming, while I need all the time I have to focus on my business and on working."

"Definitely depressing." I know I'm being rude, but my silly mouth just won't stop. "I'm sorry," I add, forcing myself to say it. "I don't mean to be rude with barricading all of these questions and opinions onto you."

"Anastasia, it's fine. Actually, it's... refreshing." He takes another sip of his water. "It's... nice to have someone here to talk to for once. Even if they _are_ barricading me with their opinions and all of their questions."

I focus on eating, inspecting the sauce curiously. It looks like Gail has put basil in it, and something else. Lemon juice, maybe?

"And what about you?" Christian asks. "Do you yourself have a boyfriend?" He's probably just asking to be nice.

"No, I don't," I admit, peering up into his eyes again while chewing slowly.

He stares back at me, deep into my eyes, and I feel like he's trying to read me or deeply understand me or something. I'm the first one to break the gaze, turning back down to my plate as a flush heats my cheeks. He really does have an intense way of looking at you.

"I mentioned earlier about a few rules for you staying here," he begins.

"Yes, you did." I glance up at him again curiously, trying to ignore how red my face probably looks to him. "What sort of rules exactly?"

"Well, since you're going to be remaining here for six months I feel I have a duty of care and responsibility for you. That means, I'm responsible for your well-being and your safety." He pauses to take another sip of the water. "I feel its only necessary that you have a curfew."

"A curfew?" What? Is he for real?

"Yes, a curfew. Seeing as you're here under my roof, you're in an unfamiliar city, I don't want you going out in the street no later than nine thirty of an evening. While you're here, in the house, bedtime seems reasonable at around eleven. You're under my care for the next six months, and I can't have you getting lost on the streets of Seattle."

I can't even believe what I'm hearing. This is stupid. "Um, so I have a bedtime now? Eleven at night?"

He smiles at me, obviously pleased. "Yes. Eleven at the latest."

"You do realize I'm practically eighteen, right?" My voices shakes at how outraged I am.

"Next year," he corrects me. "Next year, you're eighteen, like you said. Also, I would like you to inform either Taylor or Sawyer if you're leaving the house." He's being serious. He's actually being serious. "As I said, you can leave so long as you inform them first, and that you return by no later than nine o'clock in the evening."

"This is so..." I trail off, speechless, miffed. "I'm sorry, but this is completely and utterly stupid."

Christian raises his eyebrows at me. "Is it?"

"Yes, it is," I mutter in annoyance. "You're treating me here like I'm a child, like you're my babysitter! A curfew? Not once have I ever had a curfew before when living with my Mom?"

"Well, now you have one," he says, his voice hard, uncompromising. He returns to eating, a strange look passing over his face. It's almost like he's enjoying my suffering; He's enjoying all of my embarrassment, and my rage at his rules.

"No, this is... this is so not fair." I can't even eat anymore, I'm so angry. My appetite has vanished.

"I understand it's a shock, Anastasia, but clearly, I do things far more differently than say, your mother." His voice is soft, consoling. "While your mother probably is far more lenient and carefree with you , I won't be. Since you're going to be with me for the next six months, I'm taking this seriously. If anything happens to you, it's on me, and I won't take that risk."

"I don't need to follow your rules," I get out defiantly. "Because you aren't my father, or any relation to me. I'm practically an adult, I'm supposed to be applying for colleges, and I think I am perfectly capable of making adult decisions for myself." I glare up at him, and he opens his mouth. I cut him off, "You're not a parent or anyone, so no, I don't agree with and accept your rules." Setting down my fork and knife, I stand briskly from the chair, legs scraping against the tiles. I throw the napkin off. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I am going to go call my mother and see what she thinks about all of this."

Without another word, I storm out of the room, fuming. I cannot believe this! Curfews? Who does he think he is? I'm practically an adult! Recently, after finishing senior year, I was meant to be applying for different colleges. But now that I'm to be staying here in Seattle, it has well and truly thrown my plans out of the water.

Finding my phone, I locate my mother's number, pressing call. It rings out three times. Then it goes directly to her voicemail. I try again, only to get the same result. _God, why isn't she answering me when I need her?_ Growling through my teeth in frustration, I chuck my phone at the floor, sinking down on my knees to the ground.

I grit my teeth, willing myself not to cry. How can this be fair?

There's a slow, hesitant knock on the wall near the doorway. I sit up and look. Christian must have followed me upstairs to the bedroom to make sure I'm alright, because there he stands, his expression grave, concerned.

"My mother didn't answer her phone," I mutter quietly. "I think she's deliberately not answering just so that she can have the time of her life with Bob. She doesn't want to speak to me anymore. She doesn't want me to exist." Pain pierces through my heart.

"I doubt it." Slowly, he enters the room, eyeing me. There's sympathy in his eyes, I think. Worry. "I hardly think that's it." Reaching down, he holds out his hand to help me up, those long fingers outstretched. I turn my cheek and shift away, ignoring him. "Anastasia," he sighs, and for once, he sounds irritated. "This is new for me as well. I'm trying to be understanding but that's where you have to try understanding me as well. You're under my care now, and I have responsibilities."

I bite my lip indecisively, listening to how heartfelt he sounds, how gentle. Then I surrender, reaching out, clasping onto his hand. He pulls me up off the floor effortlessly, and then, still gripping onto my hand, he kneels down, picking up my phone that I threw on the floor.

I suppose he's right.

 _ **Hope you enjoyed this chapter? I am very nervous about writing a 50 Shades fic as a first time. Please be gentle on me. There will be some surprises in store (why Carla left her daughter with Christian) as well as tension getting intense between them.**_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 Temptation Builds**

The alarm on my cell phone wakes me up at 7.00 am in the morning.

I groan, flipping over onto my back to switch it off as I blink heavily, assaulted by lights streaming in through the open curtains. I fall back in the spacious bed, blinking heavily. I hadn't bothered closing the curtains in the bedroom last night when I went to bed. A few times, I woke up during the night, confused and forgetful of my surroundings, noticing how different the room felt, how strange compared to my usual familiar bedroom I had at home with my mother. Then I'd glance outside the large window, seeing the moonlight streaming in, the lights of Seattle high up, and then I'd remember.

Sleeping here hadn't been so bad last night. I don't feel too homesick so far, at least. The bed certainly feels larger than my one at home, more spacious. The sheets feel more silky, more expensive, too.

I lay in bed for a while, just in one of my baggy band T-shirts that I usually sleep in, as well as my bra and panties, no socks, listening to how quiet and serene it is. Usually, at home with my Mom, I'd hear traffic moving every morning outside. Sometimes heavy rain. But here, it's serene and so tranquil.

I reach over, grabbing my phone, unlocking it. I glance through my messages. I've gotten no new message from my mother. No missed calls. She obviously hadn't returned my call last night. Where is she right now? Or are her and Bob still midair, in flight, still heading to their destination for their honeymoon? Could that be the reason for her not returning my call sooner?

I decide to send her text message, just in case, gnawing on my bottom lip as I type:

 _Hey Mom, as you probably noticed, I tried to call you last night but you never got back to me? Pls call me back as soon as you can to let me know that you're safe. Are you already where you and Bob are supposed to be for your honeymoon? So far, it's been good staying here at Bob's brothers house. The house is beautiful, but he's sort of treating me like a child? Apparently he wants me to have a curfew? Not too happy, so pls call or text me back when you can, okay?_

 _Love you, love Ana XXX_

I press send, and it goes through. I just hope she'll get back to me later, and that she'll sympathize on how ridiculous Christian's rules are, about the curfew and the bedtime rules. I still cannot believe it. Who has to go to bed at a certain time at my age, at seventeen? I still find it so laughably ridiculous.

Getting up, I decide I might as well take advantage of using that gym that Christian showed me last night. He said I could use it whenever I want, so I may as well? I make the bed up as neatly as I can, then find my grey sweatpants and another sleeveless band T-shirt I had tucked away in the drawers when unpacking for my stay.

I head into the bathroom, stunned at how clean and polished the blinding white tiles are in the room. I peel off my shirt, change into the new one, then slip on the track-pants. I check myself out in the mirror nervously while trying to put my hair up into a neat ponytail so it doesn't get in the way while I try exercise. I turn on my side, looking down at my arms in the sleeveless shirt. Self-consciously, I pull the bottom of it down over the tight grey track-pants.

I'm like everyone else probably my age and older. I still get insecure over my body. My arms seem too lanky to me, and I feel too pale at times, and not toned enough. Maybe if I put enough effort into working out in the inside gym here of a morning, I could feel a little bit better and healthier?

Getting a grip on myself, I shake my head as I head back out into the room, checking my phone again. Nope, still no message or call from my mother.

Opening the door, I head out slowly, trying to remember where he said his gym was. That door that he said would always be locked is still closed, so I figure its the next room near it. I'm right. This one, the door is wide open, the early morning sun shining brightly out of the open doorway, bouncing off the wall.

I tug at the bottom of my shirt again self-consciously, and then I stop dead still in the open entryway. The room is not vacant, and as it turns out, someone else decided to do some exercising at 7.00 am as well.

Christian is using his weights machine. He's sitting forward, his expression concentrated as he focuses on the wall with every movement as he pushes the bar back and forth, his forearms and bicep muscles flexing. He's shirtless, dressed in just track-pants. Holy hell. I've seen quite a few good-looking guys with amazing bodies, but he definitely takes the cake. He's very muscular, very toned, with six-pack abdominal muscles.

My heart seems to start racing in my chest at the sight as I rest my shoulder against the door, staring in, watching him while he works out. I'm just standing there, watching, gawking. Perving would probably be a more apt way to describe it, but wow. I shouldn't even be doing it because he's basically my step-Uncle or whatever, but I'm female and, of course, it's only natural to appreciate something when they look that good. You can tell he really looks after himself well.

Suddenly, he turns his head and he's staring right at me while using the weights machine. I feel my cheeks redden. Great, I've been caught out.

"Good morning, Anastasia," he greets, breathless from the weights. "You're up early?"

Forcing my eyes away, I push off the wall, heading into the room. "Yeah, I thought I would take advantage of using your gym room. I guess we both had the same idea in mind."

"Did you sleep well?"

"I did. It was very quiet and serene in the room last night, which was nice." I cannot even bring myself to glance his way out of fear he'd notice me checking him out. Instead, I move towards the yoga mat, deciding on doing a bit of stretching so I don't hurt my tendons or pull a joint or anything. "I woke up a couple of times during the night though," I add, peering down at the tip of my bare toes. I bend down, holding out my arms, reaching down until I can just barely brush my middle finger against my toes. I feel the burn in my backside, my calves immediately. "For some reason, I couldn't remember where I was."

"You'll get used to it after a while."

I risk a peek over at him while pushing out my left leg forward on the yoga mat, getting ready to do some squats. He's stopped using the weights machine. He's got a white fluffy hand-towel, which he uses to wipe around his forehead, his hair. Then he reaches down, grabbing the plastic water bottle he has next to his foot on the floor. He meets my gaze as he opens the lid and I force my eyes away again, concentrating on doing my squats, bending my leg and knee slightly, that burn back again.

"So do you always do this?" I force myself to ask to break the awkward silence.

"Do what?"

When I bring my eyes back to him again, I see that he is watching me while I bend. He holds the water to his mouth as he takes in a few sips, his gray eyes on the curve of my back, my spine, my backside. Is he checking me out, too? Or is that just wishful thinking?

"You know, coming here of a morning to exercise? Is that like your routine?"

"Yes, I do this every morning." He swallows down another mouthful of water, then rests the bottle on his kneecap, his eyes still on me. He's still breathing heavily, his mouth slightly parted. I see his eyes run down the side of my legs, my ankles where the track-pants cut off. "There's nothing quite like getting your heart rate up before heading into work."

"What time do you usually have to head off to work?"

"Eight o'clock usually."

I try to focus on my bare toes as I switch feet and legs, though I get the suspicion he is still watching me and my body. Only when I dare to glance his way again, I'm left disappointed. He isn't looking at me anymore. He stands, reaching for his towel again while holding the water bottle in his other hand. Even his back, his broad shoulders. He's extremely good to look at, even if he does have a few marks and blemishes like scars on him. When he turns back to face me while sipping on his water, I see a few small round marks on his chest. What are they? Birthmarks?

Moving so my back is facing him, I bend right down again, touching my toes, pushing my backside up in the air. I'm practically showing off my butt in my tight track-pants to him, but I don't care. Sometimes its fun to be playful, a little silly. If I'm going to be forced to be staying here with someone like him, then I may as well enjoy it. I press my lips together, excitement coursing through me at my mischievousness, stifling a smile. Then I rise up slowly after I get a decent burn radiating down my thighs again, turning my head over my shoulder to peer back at him.

The plastic on the water bottle makes a crackling noise under his grip as he squeezes the center of it with his fingers. Just like I hoped, he was watching me.

"Hope you enjoyed the show?" I ask playfully, and my voice comes out too low, too soft.

He glances down at his water bottle, and I watch the tendons in his neck move as he swallows. I may be shy and insecure at times, but I've always known how to push that aside in order to be silly and teasing with people. My Mother would often say it would get me into deep trouble one of these days.

Biting down on my bottom lip with my front teeth to stop myself from grinning, I turn, placing my hands on my hips. "You know, now that your older brother has married my mother, you're practically... my Uncle?" I pause, thinking deeply. "Or well, my Step-Uncle, maybe. Not sure what it is."

He sighs loudly through his mouth, lifting up his chin to meet my gaze. His eyes twinkle. "Believe me, I'm aware of that," he mutters.

"What should I call you?" I ask, teasing some more.

"Call me?" he repeats, his brows arching in question.

"Yeah, like... should I call you Uncle? Uncle Christian?"

"Uncle Christian?" His lips flatten in distaste. He obviously doesn't realize I'm playing.

"I'm kidding," I explain with a light laugh. "I wouldn't like to call you Uncle Christian either."

He lets his head fall back as he blows a whoosh of air out of his mouth. "Thank God," he mutters in relief, and finally, he lets himself smile. "For a second there, I thought you were actually being serious. If you called me Uncle, that would make me feel so old."

"Well, you _are_ old." I manage to surprise myself by remaining completely straight-faced. "So what's your point?" I can tell he doesn't even know I'm kidding again. I decide to put him out of his misery. "Wow, I'm kidding yet again. Do you always take things so seriously and can't differentiate on whether something's a joke?" I make my voice light so he knows I'm not trying to insult him.

He blinks at me, appraising me. Then he says, somewhat grudgingly, "I've had some of my staff point out that I don't seem to have a lighthearted bone in my body, that I'm too... serious."

"Then maybe you should take their word for it?" I suggest gently. "Maybe you should try to lighten up a little?"

"Maybe you're right." He lifts up his bottle of water near his mouth. "Maybe I should," he mutters in agreement quietly before he drinks again, his eyes holding mine. I'm startled again by how intense his gaze can be, how captivating. Once he's done drinking, he lowers the bottle to his chest, licking his lips. "You seem a lot... better than you were last night?" he observes.

I feel a twinge of shame over how I reacted yet again. "I'm sorry if I seemed childish and like I was throwing a tantrum," I say honestly. "I guess I just... I'm feeling a bit stressed out right now. I'm not used to my mother being so secretive and not answering my phone calls straight away."

"I understand. It's a big... change right now."

"I still don't agree, by the way," I point out stiffly, getting my bristles up again. "I still mean what I said last night. I still find your rules to be ridiculously unnecessary and like you're treating me like a little child that you are babysitting."

"Well, regardless of how you feel on the matter, those rules still stand, Anastasia," he says, and his voice changes. It's harder, firmer, authoritative. "As unnecessary as they may seem to you, I've put them in place for a reason."

I feel that same outrage bubble to the surface. "Well, I don't find it fair."

"Then that's too bad." He shrugs dismissively, his eyes lit up with irritation. "You're in my house, and your my guest. I'm responsible for looking after you, and what I say goes. You don't have to like it, but since you _are_ staying here on my property, it's the way its going to be."

I grit my teeth, staring at him in anger. _Then I'll leave then,_ I feel like retorting bitterly. _I'll go track down my mother on her honeymoon somehow, and demand to stay with her and Bob_. But before I can so much as get a word out, he's off again.

"Much as I would enjoy to stand here listening to you arguing back at me, I really do need to go take a shower and get dressed for work." He heads towards the open doorway, wiping his face free of sweat with the hand towel again, then he pauses. "Gail will be here shortly. No doubt, she won't mind if you wish for her to prepare you some breakfast. Also, if you have any washing, just let her know and Gail will happily take care of that too."

"Unlike you, I've been doing my own washing since I was fourteen, so I think I'll manage," I mutter, but by then, its too late and he's already left the room.

My eyes landing on the boxing bag hanging off the ceiling, I decide to take my frustrations out on it. Imitating a boxer, I get in a stance with my feet a width apart, then crouch slightly forward with my hands in fists. As I punch it with all my might, I growl through my teeth. I really do hope my mother returns my call soon so that I can talk to her about this.

Once I feel better and my anger has been truly taken out on the boxing bag, I head back into the room where I'm supposed to be sleeping for the next six months. I close the door, then move into the bathroom, deciding to have a nice, warm bath while getting out of my sweaty, gross old clothes. I strip them off, standing in just my underwear while I fill the tub up as far as it can possibly go without overflowing. Then I take off my underwear and step in, submerging in the water, getting my hair completely wet.

It's nice to be in a bath, anyway. At home with my mother, we never had one in our house, just a shower, so it's a very nice change for once. I just still cannot get over how pushy and ridiculous Christian is being. He's acting like he's in charge, like he's my parent when he isn't even anything close to the sort. He's just some guy who's sort-of quickly become a family member through my mother's marriage to his adopted older brother; Bob's brother who offered to take me in for six months simply because I had nowhere else to go, out of kindness and brotherly obligation.

While he's really pissing me off, I cannot deny he is extremely attractive. I think back to how he looked, shirtless, as I reach behind me, grabbing the soap, lathering up my body so it's nice and foamy and clean. Shirtless, he looked like one of those statues where you see the man's perfectly built physique. That sounds cheesy, I know, but all the boy's I knew and saw shirtless in high school don't even compare to his body and the way it looked.

It was just pure, 100 percent masculine male. For an older guy (even though, of course, thirty one isn't exactly that old) he looks extremely good. And I'm not sure if I was just imagining it, but he did seem to check me out a couple of times. And he was definitely staring at my ass when I did that silly bending over move on the yoga mat in front of him.

I catch myself smiling as I sink down into the hot water again, getting the soap off me.

He's definitely a hottie. I just _cannot believe_ he's single, and at his age and level of attractiveness. There must be something seriously wrong there, like some fatal flaw. But what flaw could there possibly be?

* * *

Once I'm done, I grab one of the large white towels on the rack, swathing my dripping body and hair up in it while undoing the plug. I grab all my dirty clothes, rush into the other room, and search for something clean and decent to wear for the day. I slip into some fresh underwear and a clean bra, then decide on my knee-length denim shorts and one of my favorite _The Rolling Stones_ band T-shirts that cut off just above my belly button, a midriff.

Once I'm dressed, I wrap my soaking wet hair up into the towel, keeping it on my head while carrying my dirty clothes out of the room. I wonder where his laundry room is or where he puts his dirty clothes. I definitely don't expect Gail to do my washing for me, because I've grown to like doing it for myself.

I pad back downstairs, barefooted, fresh and clean, to find Christian rushing around near the kitchen table, dressed in one of his fancy business suits again like last night when I first met him. Just like how he confessed that even one shirt costed him a fortune, I bet his entire wardrobe and suit is just as stupidly rich and expensive.

"Um, do you have a hamper or something where I can put all my dirty clothes?" I ask, making myself known. "Or even a laundry room so that I can do my own washing myself so Gail doesn't have to?"

He pauses from shoving his phone and a few keys into his trouser pockets to look back at me. His expression goes strange, his mouth parting as his gray eyes wander down what I'm wearing. His gaze lingers on my T-shirt, my stomach and the amount of skin I'm showing, with my belly. What? Hasn't he seen a woman's belly-button before? He closes his mouth and I think I hear him swallow loudly. By the way he is reacting, you'd think he definitely hasn't seen a woman's belly before.

"Is something wrong?" I ask innocently, while holding up the dirty pile of my workout clothes.

I watch as he closes his eyes for a moment, and he lifts up a hand, running his fingers through his hair. Then as he slowly reopens them, I think I see exasperation building in his eyes. I've made him a little exasperated. "Gail won't mind doing your washing for you," he finally says, and there's something there in his voice. He runs his eyes slowly down my clothes again.

"I know, but I would really feel better if I wash my clothes myself."

Sighing loudly, he beckons for me to follow him. I do, and he walks me through another hallway downstairs that I never even knew existed. His place is fast becoming like a maze, a fortress of secret passageways.

Christian stops at a door at the end of the hallway, opening it and stepping back to show me. "Here's the laundry room," he explains, and as I poke my head in curiously, I see the clothes rack there, the washing machine and dryer.

"Cool," I mutter. I toss my dirty clothes on the floor near the washing machine so I can come back to them once he leaves. "I'll definitely wash and hang my own clothes then."

When I glance up at him, I realize how close we're practically standing to each other. With his hand still on the doorknob, holding the door open, he's bending a little at the knees, his face rather close to me. From this small distance, I think I can smell his cologne that he is wearing. It's a very masculine, musky scent. He smells good. And he's staring right... at my neck? My pulse?

I flush as I step back so he can close the door up again. "You smell good," I say appreciatively without thinking.

He glances down at me and he presses his lips together. I think he's trying not to smile. "Do I, Anastasia?"

"You do. I mean, with the cologne your wearing. It... it smells really nice." I glance at the blue shirt he is wearing, how the collar isn't tucked into his grey striped tie properly. "Your collar is crooked, though," I point out quietly and, before I can stop myself, I'm reaching up, helping straighten and flatten the collar down for him.

I lift my eyes up anxiously, and he meets my gaze, staring back down at me. He inhales deeply out through his nose, the corners of his mouth trembling with a smile. My thumbs brush against his neck as I smooth his collar down, and his skin is so warm, so smooth. I breathe in, inhaling in the richness of his cologne. The fragrance suits him well.

"All better now," I whisper appreciatively, and I force myself to take a step back. "Your collar is now perfectly straight, thanks to me. You're welcome."

"Well, while you're here," he mutters meaningfully, and then he turns his arms over so that I can see that both cuff-links are undone at his wrists.

I don't really know what is happening right now, but dutifully, I step forward to help do both buttons up on his cuff-links. He's quiet as I concentrate, weaving the little button through with my fingers on each sleeve carefully. I can feel the large towel that is holding up my damp hair beginning to slip down over my forehead, my neck beginning to feel stiff at its heavy weight.

"Your welcome," I whisper again with a smile, peeking up at him once I'm all done.

"I'll be home at around seven o'clock tonight," he says, and there's tension in his voice, roughness there. "There's something Taylor and I need to do and then I'll be in so that we can eat the dinner Gail has made for us together." Why do I get the feeling me helping him with his cuff-links has affected him?

"Um, okay. Have fun at work."

Once he leaves, I return back into the laundry room, unwrapping the towel off my head, letting my damp hair fall free and drip at my shoulders, onto my T-shirt. What just happened, with me sending him off, me helping with his shirt and fastening his cuff-link buttons, it felt so hilariously... husband and wife-like, I think, although I shake my head at the thought. It's like I was helping him get prepared for work, and then he was leaving, warning me he'll be home for dinner later than usual. It was so weird.

After finally managing to work out how to use the washing machine, I run back up into the room where I'm sleeping now to check my phone. Still, there's no new message or alert warning I've missed a phone call from my mother. Panic settles in at the lack of response from her. I hope she's okay. What if something happened with their flight?

In order to stop my worrying and, perhaps, some boredom from settling in too, I head back downstairs, carrying my phone with me. I pass the laundry room, looking into the other rooms. One must be his bedroom. The bed's unmade and messy, with pillows strewn on the floor. He obviously expects his housemaid Gail to make his bed for him.

Stepping back out of his room, I find another door that's closed. I try the doorknob and it's unlocked. It should be okay to go in if it isn't locked like the one upstairs, right?

My curiosity getting the better of me, I push the door open. This must be his office/work area. There's a desk with an office chair, and a closed laptop. A few nice paintings on the wall of some island and a forest. Then, my eyes widening, I notice the large bookshelf covering one side of the wall. I cannot believe he didn't show me his stash of books. I love reading, and it's one of my greatest passions in life. How come he didn't show me his books?

Stepping closer while tapping my phone on my wrist, I peer closer at all the titles. Some books are old and dusty. A title catches my eye and I feel my heart race. _Kamasutra: Styles in Sex_. I shouldn't do it, but I slide the book out carefully, helping myself to an old armchair by the window. I sit, sighing at how comfortable the cushion is while opening the first few pages. He's bookmarked a few pages with paper.

I flip the ones he's bookmarked open, and then I feel my breath hitch in my throat, my eyes widening.

"Holy crap," I gasp out with a laugh.

The pictures are very descriptive, very graphic. A man and a woman are naked, both laying on each other, but each upside down. Their feet are near their heads, their heads buried in... Wow. I feel my cheeks go scarlet as I look closer. The woman's mouth is open, the man's penis in her mouth. Is she sucking it? When I look closer at the man's head, I see they've drawn his tongue poking out, so he's licking her... down there. Is this porn to him? Have I stumbled across Christian's stash of porn in book form?

I laugh to myself, flustered, when I look at another page that he's bookmarked. Missionary, it says. The man and woman drawn are... connected with their intimate parts. It's fascinating, while a little unnerving too, how much detail is in these drawings.

Suddenly, I hear a noise and I gasp. Crap, someone's in the house!

Jumping up off the armchair, I shove the book back on the shelf. I still feel a little... odd by what I've found as I sneak back out, shutting his office door carefully. The images in the book, the drawings, they seem to stick in my mind, imprinting their way in, their graphic detail, how the man and woman were both sucking and licking each other's privates. Do people actually do that together at the same time?

I startle, slamming a hand to my chest to ease my thumping heart when Gail appears out of nowhere, her face right at the end of the hallway. She laughs and smiles apologetically at how terrified I look.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Anastasia, dear. Didn't mean to frighten you!"

"Oh, no, it's fine. I just didn't expect someone to suddenly come into the house, that's all!"

"Is the washing machine going?" She looks past my shoulder with a frown.

"Yes, it is. I thought I'd do my own washing."

"I could have done it for you. I do it for Mr Grey all the time."

"Oh, well, I didn't want you to have to," I mutter.

"Well, that's what I'm paid for. Once your washing's done, I'll put them in the dryer for you." Before I can start to protest, she holds a hand up to me, smiling again warmly. "Please, it's what I get paid for. I won't feel useful otherwise."

I still feel a bit lightheaded and nervous, even although I know it's just Gail, his housemaid. Or maybe it's guilt I'm truly feeling? Guilt that I was snooping, that I saw something private, like Christian's _Kamasutra_ book with all the pornographic images?

The rest of my day is spent rather quietly.

I end up watching the TV, putting on one of the DVD's Christian suggested I could watch. Earlier in the morning, Gail had informed me that she had gone grocery shopping.

She had ended up getting me a few bottles of both soy milk and almond milk- not being sure which one I would prefer, which was very kind of her. She had also made me scrambled tofu and a cup of English Breakfast tea, which was also lovely of her. I still feel bad that she did that for me, though.

I end up putting on a romantic comedy, and when the intimate scene comes on between the two key players on the huge flat-screen, the images in his book return to me. I feel all flushed and achy as I sit there, stretched out on his sofa, my bare feet resting on an ottoman. Something tells me that those pictures aren't ones I will be able to forget anytime soon. I've just never seen stuff like that before, even at my age, and the pictures were quite detailed and true-to-life, as far as their body parts went.

By the time six in the evening comes, Gail makes her return to make dinner.

I ask if she needs or wants any help, but she insists she's perfectly fine and happy to cook for both me and Mr Grey. I still feel a bit funny about letting her both cook and do my washing for me, though.

My phone, I've been holding permanently attached to me all day. My mother still hasn't contacted me, so I write another text while the noises on the TV flow in the background.

 _Hi Mom, it's me again. I hope you're okay. Pls do contact me when you can. You are worrying me. I need to know you and Bob are safe, where ever you are. Love you XXX_

Flipping my phone shut, I stretch out on the sofa, curling up on my side, tucking my legs in. Then I jolt again at the noise when suddenly someone comes in through the door loudly, the sound of paper bags rustling and hitting each other. Why am I so jumpy today?

I peer behind me to find Christian arriving home from work. He's carrying two paper shopping bags from what looks like clothing stores, both of them casually hooked to his forefingers by the ribbon that holds them together.

"Good evening, Mr Grey," Gail greets fondly, and he nods at her with a smile. Then he glances around as if he's searching for something, and then his eyes settle on me from where I sit, lounging around on his large U-shaped sofa.

"Good evening, Anastasia," he says, and as he comes towards the back of the couch, he suddenly lifts up both bags, hurling them into my lap. "I got you a few things." I feel like I can hardly get my head straight as I peer down at the bags he's suddenly thrown on me. He starts shrugging out of his jacket. "I'm going to get changed, then we can have dinner once Gail lets us know it's ready. I'll be back in a second." He leaves the room without another word as I sit up slowly, looking at the bags again.

He's got me something? Why? I so was not expecting this at all.

The bags have labels. Both say Dolce & Gabbana, and while I'm not that fashionable, I am familiar with labels. It's an expensive brand. What has he done?

Nervously, I grab one of the bags, opening it, putting my hand inside to see what it is. Clothes? He's brought me clothing? Why would he? I pull it open and hold it up, realizing it's a shirt. It's pretty, but it's... weird, the fact that he brought me clothing. The shirt is lace and a very gorgeous orange color. It goes right down, covering the stomach, and the top of it, the lace neck, is very high up, so it won't show either cleavage or stomach skin. Even just by touching it, you can tell the fabric is extremely luxurious. I realize he's left the price tag on it, though I'm not sure if that's a deliberate move or not.

And holy crap! It's $761.00! That much for one shirt!

I remember him telling me last night at dinner that he gets paid a ridiculous amount per hour, but still.

Terrified, I fold it back up and place it carefully into its bag. Then I check what else he's gotten me. More clothing. This one is an acid-wash, button-up denim jacket, high neck, long sleeves. The price tag on this one is just even as daunting as the other one. $645.00!

He brought me two shirts which he paid over a thousand dollars for. Why? While it's incredibly nice of him, why would he bother doing that? I don't understand.

When he returns into the room, dressed in a white dress shirt and trousers, I find I don't know what to say. My voice has literally left me, I'm speechless. I know I should thank him, but all of a sudden it's like I've forgotten how to speak English.

"How are we going in there, Gail?" he asks casually, ignoring me as he heads into the kitchen. I hear him and Gail talking, and they both are laughing, seeming so close to each other, so friendly. Why did he buy me clothes though? I've got plenty of clothes that I packed for staying here?

When Christian emerges from the kitchen, leaving Gail in peace, he comes slowly around the couch. I sit up quickly, swinging my legs off to set my feet on the floor, my mind still blown as he sits beside me.

"Why did you get me these, Christian?" I end up asking breathlessly.

He takes one of the bags, opening it up, grabbing the beautiful lace shirt. He holds it in both hands up in the air so that I can fully appreciate it again. "What do you think?" he asks, ignoring my question. "I wasn't sure what style you liked but I thought this one would suit you. Especially the color."

"Yeah, it... it's really pretty. But why did you buy me clothes?" I really wish he'd pay attention to me. He inspects the shirt he is holding up for a moment, then folds it carefully back up, shoving it back into the shopping bag. "I saw the price tags on both of them, and they were ridiculously, ludicrously expensive?"

The lights go dim as Gail switches them off. She's lighting candles for our dinner again at the table. It sucks because now I can't see his face.

"I told you how much I earn an hour last night. It's nothing."

"But what makes you think that I needed more clothes?" I ask in confusion. "I brought all the clothes I own with me. I'm perfectly fine with the clothes I have, so you needn't have bothered to-"

"-Yes, I did need to bother, Anastasia," he cuts me off quickly. While his voice is measured, I think I hear an undercurrent in it. "Look at what you're wearing now, for example. Your shirt. It doesn't even cover you properly."

My gratitude and shock over his gesture fizzles out, second by second, as his words sink in. In it's place, is anger. "Oh, so that's why you felt it necessary to buy me these clothes? Because what I'm wearing today is too revealing for you?" I cannot believe it. Just like I cannot believe his rules, his curfew. How dare he comment over what I choose to wear!

Before I can hear his response, Gail's kind voice tears through the silence. "Dinner is served." I don't get to hear his explanation.

 **Thank you so much for your kind response, the comments and alerts, it made me so shocked, as I am very nervous writing a story about Christian and Ana. I hope this chapter was alright and would love to read your thoughts and what you are thinking about Christian's intentions? Thank you! Also, a question about chapter length, do you feel they are too short or just the right amount?**


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you so much for your kind words and the alerts, it was so unexpected and really pushes me to update quicker, even if I am nervous with this! Thank you! Hoping you enjoy this one! Again, it's probably slow building, but I hope you enjoy nevertheless. Feel free to let me know if you have any suggestions or constructive advice.**

 **Chapter Four Temptation Builds**

Since it's dinner time, and I am hungry and eager to discover what vegan concoction Gail has made up for me tonight, I grab my phone, padding barefooted into the kitchen. The bright glare of flickering candles assault me from in the center of the table. I still don't understand why Gail insists on the whole lighting-candles-thing.

I check my phone again just for the sake of it as I pull up my chair and sit. Still no reply from my mother. I sigh loudly, leaning back to watch Christian as he strolls over to his large refrigerator. While there's another crystal jug at the table with chilled water and two glasses, he is obviously opting for something a bit stronger tonight. I watch as he uncorks a bottle of wine, then he pours himself a glass. He doesn't even ask if I want one, which honestly, doesn't surprise me. I am underage, after all.

"No, thank you," I mutter stiffly as I watch him. He pauses from putting the bottle back in the refrigerator to glance over at me questioningly. "I actually don't feel like a glass of wine myself, but thanks for asking me anyway."

"I wasn't going to ask you."

"No shit," I mumble beneath my breath. "I kind of figured that you wouldn't."

"I hardly think your mother would be pleased if I did offer you a glass of wine." He carries his glass over to the table, kicking back his chair. "Last thing I need is for her to think I'm encouraging you to indulge in underage drinking."

My belly clenches at his words as I grab myself a glass of water, pouring it out from in the jug. _Wait. Has he spoken to my mother? Has he been able to contact her?_

"Have you been able to reach her?" I ask in surprise, watching him.

He does that thing with his napkin in shaking it out and tucking it in beneath the neck of his collar to protect his shirt like he had last night at dinner. God, he must be so predictable. "I haven't, Anastasia. I'm just merely guessing that she wouldn't be too pleased with me." He looks at me while folding up his sleeves on each arm up to his elbows. "Have you heard from her?"

"No, I haven't." It hurts, even simply talking about it. "It's really annoying. She still hasn't tried to contact me or to return my call. I hope she's okay."

"I'm sure her and Bob are fine. They are probably just preoccupied with celebrating the start of their new life together." He picks up his cutlery, beginning to eat, slicing a large chunk of steak with ease.

Sighing again, I force myself to glance down at my plate while picking up my own cutlery. Just like last night, Gail has surprised me yet again. Tonight is what looks like a vegetable stir-fry with chickpeas and fried tofu pieces.

"Anyway, you're so lucky to have Gail," I mutter while stabbing a slice of tofu with my fork. I hold it up to my mouth, nibbling on it curiously. It actually tastes really good; She's outdone herself from last night's sauce, I think. This one tastes like it has a little bit of lime drizzling with a hint of spice to it. "She's an extremely good cook. I wish I had someone like her that could cook me all of these wonderfully creative meals." Talking about food seems to curb my depression over my mother's lack of contact, at the very least.

"She'll be pleased to hear it. I'll let her know."

I realize I should probably thank him for the clothes, unnecessary and as expensive as they may be. "Thanks for the clothes, by the way." I lift my gaze to meet his, trying not to let my eyes focus on his mouth as he chews. "I'm perfectly fine with all the clothes that I already brought here, but thanks anyway. They're pretty."

He nods once at my expression of gratitude, his eyes shining. "You're welcome," he mutters after swallowing. "It was the... least I could do." He clears his throat as he glances down at his wine glass, reaching out for it. I might be mistaken, but in the candlelight he seems rather... awkward about something.

Suddenly, I remember coming across his porn book this morning while shoveling a large forkful of chickpeas into my mouth, the _Karmasutra_ book in his work/office area on the bookshelf. A giddy laugh escapes through my throat as I feel my cheeks reddening. I can feel the chickpeas sliding down my throat almost the wrong way, and quickly, I have to reach for my water, sipping a few quick mouthfuls in order to make it go more smoothly down.

"What?" Christian asks, and when I bring my eyes up, I discover he is staring at me, rather suspiciously. "What's so funny, Anastasia?"

"Um, nothing." I wipe my mouth on the back of my hand quickly, then another giggle erupts from it again. Wow, what is wrong with me?

"You say it's nothing, but... somehow I'm not convinced. Are you laughing at me?"

I decide I may as well tell the truth. "How come you didn't tell me you had some books that I could read?"

He looks back down at his food as he slices another bit of steak with his knife. As he pops another piece of steak into his mouth, he chews slowly as he meets my eyes again. I can tell he's confused.

"In your office or work area?" I explain, elaborating. Gently, Christian places his fork and knife down against his plate, reaching for his napkin. He dabs around his mouth, digesting my words down. "I was curious so I may have... been a little sneaky and decided to investigate some of the other rooms downstairs that you never showed me on your tour yesterday. How come you didn't tell me that you do have some books? I mean, you showed me all the CD's and DVD's you have?"

"You went into my study, Anastasia?" I scrutinize his face carefully while nibbling on another bit of tofu. It's impossible to know how he feels on that. He won't meet my gaze, and he lifts a hand, running his fingers slowly through his hair.

"I did. Like I said, I was simply... curious."

Finally, he leans back in his chair a little, lifting his chin up to meet my eyes. There's a weird moment there where he simply stares at me, and I stare back while chewing on tofu. Is he pissed off that I helped myself into his study? Gee, if it's that much of a big deal to him, then why didn't he lock the door like he did the room upstairs?

"It wasn't locked, so I was assuming it was okay to go in there," I explain quietly with a shrug. "The door was left open, so... I just assumed you wouldn't have minded. I was curious." I get a very vivid flash, a mental image, of the extremely descriptive drawings in the book again, drawings on the verge of pornography. I feel my cheeks flush with heat again as I try not to smile. I have to press my lips tightly together. "Were you hiding it from me?" I ask, my voice taking a teasing edge.

He arches his eyebrows at me. "Hiding what?" he murmurs, then he reaches for his wine glass. He puts his mouth over the glass, his eyes still holding mine.

"I saw your secret porn stash?" This is said at the same time he so happens to take a sip of his wine. I can tell it goes down the wrong way, all because of my words, probably due to the unexpectedness of them, the shock.

He coughs loudly, slamming his glass back down onto the table while he reaches for his napkin. He turns away from me with his mouth covered by the napkin, coughing and spluttering into it. I know I probably shouldn't feel that way, but his reaction amuses me to no end.

"My secret porn stash?" he repeats once he has recovered from his choking fit. He yanks his napkin out from his collar, scrunching it up between his fingers.

"Yeah, the book with the extremely descriptive pictures that you bookmarked with pieces of paper? The _Karmasutra: Styles of Sex_ book?"

I think he finally gets it. "Oh, Jesus," he groans under his breath, and he rests both elbows on the table, clasping his hands together. He uses his hands to cover his mouth as he glances away from me, tossing his head. I think I've gotten him embarrassed. "That isn't my secret porn stash, Anastasia. Far from it."

"But is that what you want?" I cannot help asking. "Is that what you want to do?"

He laughs at my words quietly, an uncomfortable look on his face. "Do what? I don't understand what you're saying, Anastasia?"

"Well, is that what you want a woman to do to you?" I ask curiously. I know he fully comprehends what I am asking when he drops his hands away from his mouth. He glances down at his plate, clearing his throat roughly, before picking up his fork again. "Is that the sort of... thing you want? Like in those pictures?"

"Anastasia," he breathes quietly, still not looking at me. It sounds like a warning.

"What?"

"I hardly think that talking about it's appropriate. Particularly not at dinner." He keeps his eyes on his food as he shoves his steak around the plate.

"Oh, okay then," I mutter. I reach out, wrapping my fingers over my glass of water. I watch him while I swallow a few sips of water, noticing how he refuses to look at me. He'll just shake his head and smile to himself. A few times he'll chuckle, like he cannot believe it. "I didn't realize you were so prudish," I add before I can help myself. Maybe my mother was right? Maybe, one of these days, my teasing truly was going to get me into deep trouble.

"Prudish, did you say?" At my lighthearted words, Christian's eyes immediately dart up to meet mine. All trace of humor is gone in his face, his gray eyes. He suddenly looks so stern, so serious. "Believe me, Anastasia, if you knew me well, 'prudish' is very last thing you would describe me as. In fact, I'm the polar opposite of 'prudish.'"

I am stunned at his sudden swift change in mood. I guess my assessment of him was totally right this morning. He really can't differentiate between whether something is a joke or not.

"Okay," I whisper with a nod. "Consider me put in my place then. I take it back with calling you 'prudish'."

His eyes seem to soften with relief, then he glances away, back down at his plate of food again. He begins to eat again, but I can't help sensing there is still tension there, in the way he eats, the way he chews and handles his knife. I think he's pissed at me, deep down inside.

"What wine are you drinking?" I force myself to ask, hopefully to ease the tension. "What's it called?" Talking about wine is neutral, right?

He finishes chewing and swallowing his mouthful of food, before he says, "It's Chateau Mouton-Rothschild. A 1945 blend."

I wouldn't even begin to know what that means anyway, so I just play along. "Sounds nice, then."

"At four thousand dollars a bottle, you'd certainly hope so," he mutters offhandedly, and I know he isn't saying it as a joke, but I end up laughing anyway.

"You're kidding me?" I mutter in disbelief. "So now you're paying four thousand dollars for one bottle of wine?" I cannot believe it. It just seems so ridiculously extravagant, so posh and fancy.

He shrugs, still not meeting my gaze as he eats. I can still sense a little bit of sullen moodiness there over the prudish comment.

"I suppose, in all fairness, if I had money like you do, I'd indulge every now and then," I confess. "It's just... wow." I cannot believe one bottle of wine can even cost that much, let alone that he would happily buy it when there are so many other better ways he could put that amount of money to use. "I'd feel really bad if I spent that amount of money on a bottle of wine or something like clothes. I'd just end up feeling... selfish. Like I could put it to better use, rather than for myself?" I'm rambling, but the topic has made me feel passionate. "Like the same amount of money for that bottle of wine could have helped multiple animals in shelters or... or help poverty stricken communities."

"Well, I get what you're saying, Anastasia. I get that it can seem... selfish and extravagant, but I _do_ try to give back to the community as much as I possibly can." His mouth tightens, and I realize how inconsiderate my words just were to him. Me and my stupid mouth and my opinions sometimes. "Believe it or not, I do donate to multiple charities. I help with fundraisers and raising awareness, and I do try to give back as much as humanly possible. It isn't always just me being selfish and buying stupid shit that I don't need."

"I'm sorry," I burst out belatedly. "I... I didn't mean to imply that you were selfish, or that you don't give back to the community. Sometimes I have a habit of speaking before I truly think how my words will be interpreted."

"Anastasia, it's fine," he assures me quietly, but he still won't meet my gaze.

"I think it's something I got from my mother," I mumble in embarrassment, cupping my forehead with my hand. I feel so rude, so insensitive. "I didn't mean to be rude. Like I said, I just speak sometimes and voice what's on my mind without truly thinking. I get that from my mother, I'm sorry."

He nods, so I know my apology is accepted. I still feel bad, though. _God, my mouth._

"So you were adopted?" I try to change subject to something hopefully easier while I start eating again. "You and Bob?"

"Yes, Robert and I were adopted."

"Is it just you two?"

"No, we also have a sister and another brother. We were all adopted."

"I wonder why Robert never told me this," I say with a mouth full of food. "Well, maybe he told my mother, but... I guess he doesn't really have to tell me anything, does he? I guess my mother's the main concern, seeing as they're... in a relationship and now married and all. It just would have been nice to know."

"Well, we were all adopted at an extremely young age," Christian explains. "It gets tiresome after a while telling people that. Now, we aren't all so much adopted as we are like your regular normal family. I don't think any of us feel... adopted anymore. We just see ourselves as a regular family."

"I guess that makes sense," I mutter thoughtfully.

"Your mother was married before?" he asks, and finally, he meets my gaze. He holds my gaze with interest, our previous conversations evidently forgotten and put aside.

"Yes, once before. I have a stepfather Ray, that she was married to previously, but they are divorced now. My real father, my biological father, I never knew him. He died when I was about... one, I think. So Ray was mainly who I consider to be my father, the man who raised me from childhood."

"And why couldn't you go live with him? How come your mother insisted you stay here as the only option for the six months?"

That's what I kind of don't understand myself in some ways. "Well, Ray's been in and out of hospital. He's very sick. He was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer about four or five years ago. He's undergoing treatment a lot for that."

"I'm sorry," Christian says sympathetically. "That must be hard for you."

"He hasn't been well so I don't think my mother wanted me to be near him while he's sick. In some ways, I understand, because it's heartbreaking enough to know he's sick, that he has to go through chemotherapy. I don't think I can handle it if I had to stay with him and see him have to go through all that." I remember the last time I saw Ray, how much thinner he looked, how tired. "Last time I saw him, he looked as though he'd lost a decent amount of weight. He looked really exhausted too, and you could tell it was taking a toll on his health. I guess it's lucky I didn't go stay with him right now." I shrug, glancing up at him. "But he contacts me a lot usually, just to let me know how he is. Sometimes even listening to his voice on the phone, it gets... hard." I've never really spoken about it in such depth to someone before, Ray's illness. But it seems to help, talking to Christian about it, surprisingly.

"Do they think he'll get better eventually?" he asks after a moment. "Is the treatment helping?"

"I'm not sure whether the treatment is helping him or not. I think they said it was in the advanced stages though, his cancer. He explained to me that usually, in the advanced stages, it spreads and its more serious."

"Are you doing okay with it all?" He asks unexpectedly, and the question takes me by surprise. He sounds so caring, so concerned. And when I peek up at his face, I find him watching me, gentleness shining in his eyes. It takes my breath away, his compassion.

"I think so." I inhale in deeply, forcing a smile. "Mainly, I just wish he'd get better, that's all. I always seem to fear the worst."

"I'm sure that's completely normal and expected," Christian says. "I'm sure a lot of people always fear the worst, particularly when knowing those that they care the most about are sick. It's always... there in the back of your mind." It stuns me, how right he is on that.

"Have you lost someone close to you?" I ask, getting the feeling that he has. "Has someone close to you been sick? It seems like you have, and that you're... well-versed in that experience?"

"I had someone close to me die when I was a child," he explains quietly. "Before I was adopted, I had... my mother die."

I try to conceal my shock as I blink at him. He doesn't meet my gaze again as he eats a forkful of food, but I can somehow sense some misery there over it, some sadness. "I'm sorry. Do you... remember her well and what she was like?"

"Not really," he simply says with a shrug. "I was barely four when she died. I can't remember her all that much, to be honest. It seems so... long ago."

It's nice that he is telling me this. It's nice to hear someone else has gone through something, too. Also, it helps to know him a bit more on a personal level, especially if I am to be staying here for six months."Thank you for telling me," I say gratefully. "It somehow... helps a lot to know I'm not alone, that... other people have to go through things as well."

He smiles tightly down at his food. "You're welcome, Anastasia."

Now, due to where our conversation has taken us, it feels so depressing and sad, the atmosphere. I try think of something else to say. "I was thinking about getting out of your house tomorrow and checking out Seattle," I begin.

"Well, that's good to hear. Seattle's great. There's a lot to see."

"I bet." I stare at him while taking a sip of water. "Do you have any suggestions?"

"Well, depends on what you're interested in?"

"Anything. I'm interested in basically anything there is."

"Well..." Christian pauses to take a drink of his wine, thinking deeply. "You could always try the Pike Place Market, for starters?"

"Cool. What do they have there?"

"Everything. Gourmet food, crafts. That sort of thing."

It definitely seems interesting. "I'll have to check it out then, sure. What else do you recommend?"

"If you're interested in seeing the sights, there's the Space Needle, one of the main landmarks here. You might like checking it out. And, if you're also interested, you can always fly with me by helicopter and I'll show you what the city looks like from high up?"

"Fly with you?" I repeat in confusion.

"Yes, I have my pilot's license," he explains proudly. "Also, I have my own helicopter."

"Seriously?" I don't know why I'm reluctant to take him so seriously, to believe him. Of course he'd have his own helicopter, obviously. "Wow, I'd really like that if you could take me one time to see the view of Seattle high up? That would definitely be great."

"Of course. I'll have to get things arranged and then we can go sometime. Possibly next week, at the latest."

"Great," I mutter with a smile. "I can't wait for that then. But tomorrow, I will definitely check out Pike Place Market and the Space Needle, for sure." I am pretty sure I packed a map in my bag- a tourists handbook of Seattle that I brought somewhere, specifically for when my mother informed me of this two weeks ago. I should find whereabouts the market and the Space Needle are rather easily hopefully.

"I just ask that you tell either Sawyer or Taylor where you plan to go and when you are about to leave," Christian points out seriously, and it's like my heart has deflated. Oh, great. Here he goes with his rules. "I would hate to think what could happen to you if you got lost, and you couldn't find your way back to here. Seattle's probably far different from where you lived before, with your mother."

"Well, luckily for me, I thought to buy a tourists handbook specifically for here," I inform him happily. "It has a map and I like to think I'm rather streetwise so I should be fine out there on my own."

"Still, before you leave, tell either Sawyer or Taylor before you go, Anastasia. If Taylor isn't here because he's driving me to work, then your first point of reference is to go to Sawyer." He sound so bossy, so stern.

"I don't believe I've met Sawyer? Of course, I've met Jason Taylor because he picked me up yesterday from the airport, but... Sawyer? How am I meant to know who he is if I've never seen him?"

Sighing loudly, Christian rises from his chair, beckoning me to follow. Ignoring my almost empty plate of food, I rise from my chair, following him out to the foyer. I see Jason Taylor sitting in a chair, reading.

"Mr Grey, sir," he greets.

"Hi, Taylor. Where's Sawyer?"

"Just through the door, sir. He's keeping guard."

Christian looks at me, to make sure I'm following I suppose, before he opens the door. I notice a youngish man, heavily suited, standing by the door. "Sawyer, I thought I'd introduce you to Anastasia," Christian explains. "Anastasia, this is Sawyer. Sawyer, Anastasia is staying here for six months, so if she intends to leave, make sure she notifies you beforehand. Is that understood?" It's irritating, how no-nonsense bossy he is.

"Yes, sir. That's understood."

"Excellent," Christian mutters, pleased. Then he guides me back to the dinner table with his hand pressed against my back. "Now you know who Sawyer is and what he looks like, so inform him before leaving. There's no excuses not to now."

"You're very domineering," I observe, sliding back into my chair.

To my surprise, it doesn't offend him. No, he acts almost as though it's a compliment. He smiles at me while taking another sip of wine. After swallowing, he licks his lips. "I get called that quite a lot, yes."

"You act like it's a compliment or as if it's flattering to be thought of like that, when it isn't," I point out tartly. "In fact, it's rather annoying. Most people don't like domineering people."

He shrugs, resting both elbows on the table. "Well, believe it or not, I'm not like most people, Anastasia. I don't care whether I'm not liked."

"Well, you _should_ care," I mutter. "Otherwise you're setting yourself up for a lonely, lonely life of misery."

"Well, I'm not afraid of being alone," he retorts back at me confidently.

I hold his gaze as I lean both elbows on the table, arching in, trying to engage him in a cheeky staring contest. "I've noticed you're not. I think your house and the way you are living right now, single and old, is self explanatory for that."

"Single and old?" he repeats in a whisper, and he feigns hurt, his forehead creasing in pain. "Ouch yet again."

"Well, that's what you are, isn't it?" I tease, rubbing the salt in. I swear he's touchy when I call him old at thirty one. "Single and old?"

He stares me down, and I can tell he's trying to look serious and menacing. Only he fails; He has to press his lips together to stop himself from breaking into a smile. "Remember to tell either Taylor or Sawyer that you're heading out," he says, and it's a high-handed order.

"And what if, say... I accidentally forget?" Although it's difficult trying to hold his gaze, to win the staring contest, I try with all my might. "What happens then?"

"There's no 'accidentally forgetting' when it comes to this."

"But what if I do? What will you do?" I'm sincerely curious. I win the game, just like that; He glances away from me, and I've won the staring contest. I kick my feet beneath the table in glee. "I win," I mutter triumphantly.

"You win with what, Anastasia?"

"The staring contest. You just looked away, so that means that I won."

He sighs loudly through gritted teeth, not impressed. I don't think I have ever met a man so serious before. Not to mention bossy. "Just do what I say, Anastasia. Tell Taylor or Sawyer when you leave. And remember your curfew. You can stay out for no longer than nine thirty. Later than that, then you're in trouble."

I still find his rules about the curfew ridiculous. Fair enough, I'll try remember to tell this Sawyer or Jason Taylor when I intend to leave his house. But I am truly curious and interested to see what will happen if I do 'accidentally' break his curfew rule and turn up later than nine thirty. I wonder what he'd do to me. Would he try ground me like a father would? Somehow, it isn't hard imagining that he would. He seems _that_ controlling, _that_ overbearing. I think I'd like to see him _try_ grounding me.

Once we've finished eating dinner, I help him clear up. He insists on leaving the dirty plates for Gail to deal with, which seems wrong, but since he's insisting...

"So you like The Rolling Stones?" he asks me as we head back out into the living room.

"Yeah, how'd you know, though?"

He gestures towards my shirt before moving towards his stereo system. Oh, of course. Obviously he'd know I like them, seeing as I have a shirt with The Rolling Stones on it. Stupid me.

He finds one of their CD's, putting it on. The way it comes out through the stereo systems, the speakers, it sounds amazing. The song Wild Horses floats between us with Mick Jagger's soulful crooning.

"I love this one," I tell him. "It's one of my favorites of theirs."

"Mine, also. How come you like The Rolling Stones?"

"Doesn't everyone like them?" I can't help it. As the chorus begins, I start swaying on my bare feet around his large U-shaped couch. It's impossible not to move to the music, though. Ordinarily, I would feel nervous and self-conscious about dancing in front of someone, but with him, I just don't care what he thinks.

He watches me, like I noticed him watching me this morning in his gym room doing my playful squats and stretches. His eyes shine as they run slowly down my body, my belly that's showing, amusement glistening in them. "You're a bit... young though, don't you think?" The way he says it, sort of teasingly, it has me rolling my eyes.

"You're never too young to like The Stones, I don't think. And besides, I told you I liked a lot of different music, didn't I?"

He doesn't dance with me, probably because he's too uptight for that. I probably look like such a dork to him, but who cares? I bite my lip as I bring up a hand to run my fingers through the strands of my hair, swaying. I stare back at him as I move my hips, rocking them slowly. He tucks one hand deep into his trouser pocket, while he lifts up the other one, tracing his forefinger along his bottom lip, his gaze still glued to me.

"Are you going to just stand there gawking at me or are you going to dance too?" I force myself to ask through the music, sort of annoyed by him just standing there.

Christian raises both eyebrows at me while he rubs his chin with his fingers. His eyes land on my bare belly again, something intense and bright burning in his eyes, then he slowly runs them up, my arms, my neck. The way he looks at me, the way he stares, it's rather... sexy, like he's captivated by the way my body moves, like he's entranced. I know I shouldn't be thinking that way, because he probably doesn't even mean to watch me like that, but it's true. I find him sexy- in an older, irritating way. Then he laughs, though I can't hear him properly through the music. What? Is he laughing at me?

"You call that dancing, Anastasia?" he finally speaks up through the music, and his voice trembles with laughter.

"Yes, I do! What's wrong with my dancing?" I step forward, reaching out to grab his hand, trying to coerce him to dance with me seeing as he likes the song, too. Startling me, he whips his arm back like he's repelled by my sheer touch alone, tensing. It stings me, his reaction, I cannot pretend it doesn't, but I cover it up well with a laugh. "What? Aren't you going to dance with me, Christian?"

"I don't think that's really appropriate."

"You don't think it's appropriate? Why not?" I laugh at his behavior, trying to reach for him again. I shouldn't like teasing him as much as I do, but I cannot help it. He's just so ridiculously uptight; He really needs to let loose a little. I mean, it certainly wouldn't hurt him to. He steps back with a sigh through his mouth, his eyes flashing. _Wow, he's getting really aggravated by me._ "How can dancing be in anyway inappropriate, Christian? It's just silly dancing to a good song?"

Suddenly, he glances down at the watch on his wrist and, before I know it, he's wandering back over to the stereo, switching it off rudely, ending my dancing and enjoyment of Wild Horses. "It's time for bed," he says, and there's a strange hint of irritation to his voice.

"Why?" I whine unhappily. "I thought we were enjoying listening to The Stones?"

Irritation gleams in his eyes as he shakes his head at me. "It's time for bed, I said, Anastasia," he insists hardly. "Go." Reaching over the couch, he grabs something. I realize it's those shopping bags with the clothes he brought me today. "Take these with you," he urges, handing them to me. "Go to bed. Now."

Why do I get the feeling I've pissed him off somehow? I glare at him before storming into the kitchen, grabbing my phone. He's so confusing. How does ones mood change so suddenly? I thought we were having fun, just being silly listening to some good tunes?

 **What do you think so far? Enjoying? Or is the speed/pacing a tad too slow? Feel free to let me know if you have suggestions or advice you wish to offer. Some have asked about a Christian POV but if I do that, one of the main surprises will be revealed too early so I hope you won't mind if I don't write his view, though it will all be uncovered within time. Also, sorry for any errors, they are mine alone (I'm not perfect but I do try write as correctly as I can to my capabilities). I get anxious writing this so I hope it isn't badly written.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you all so much. I loved reading your thoughts. This may be a bit slow, but it's getting there, I promise. Thank you!**

 **Chapter 5- Temptation Builds**

I find it impossible to sleep, although I'm not sure why.

I don't feel too hot beneath the sheets. I don't feel too cold either. The pillow rests perfectly against the side of my face, the shape of it, but still... it's as though my brain refuses to shut off. I sigh through my mouth, shifting onto my back, peering up at the dark ceiling in the room, at the shapes the moonlight throws on it through the uncovered windows while shoving the blanket down past my waist. I stroke the smooth skin around my belly button absently with my fingers, feeling troubled.

I really want to reach over and check my phone to see if my mother has finally tried to reach me and return my calls, yet there's some part of me that's both reluctant and afraid to. I have the horrible, gnawing suspicion that she hasn't even bothered to return my call, not even after two days of being away. If I dare to reach over with my hand to grab my phone, if I look... confirming it will only hurt.

I feel my eyes water with frustration as I blink up at the ceiling. The absence, the lack of contact from her- it's unbearable. I never knew how much I missed and valued my mother, her presence in my life, until now. It's all so confusing. Why isn't she returning my calls? Does she not even care that I've tried calling her? That I've texted her numerous times even?

Thinking about it only serves to depress me all over again, so I force myself to sit up, tucking my legs in while circling my arms around them as I stare out the window, at the bright lights of the vast cityscape across from me. I wonder if I should try reading a chapter in my Tess book, but I just don't feel in the mood for it. It doesn't seem like reading will distract me well enough tonight. Then I think I hear it, though I may be mistaken. I think I hear the faint sound of music.

Bringing up both hands, I rub my eyes with my fingers, trying to get rid of the tears, the moisture. And then I hear it some more. Yes, it's definitely music. Is he awake? Christian? Is he downstairs listening to music?

After what happened earlier tonight, what with me being silly and dancing to Wild Horses, he'd seemed so frustrated with me, so annoyed. As if he was sick of me, as if I was some irritating burden inside his home. Is that what he thinks of me? Well, gee. If that is truly the way he feels, then why agree to allow me to stay in his house for the next six months until Bob and my mother return from their honeymoon from God only knows where?

Sleep is clearly not going to come to me, especially not with how heavy and emotional I feel right now. All I can seem to do is feel frustrated about my situation with my mother and her not returning my calls or messages. I need to do something to take my mind off it. Anything.

Throwing the blankets off, I climb out of the bed, padding barefooted to the door. As I open it, the music becomes clearer. A piano. He must be awake, listening to a CD, probably Beethoven or Mozart or something. The melody is depressing. Beautiful and harrowing, but mainly depressing too.

As I walk along the hallway towards the stairs, I hesitate, yanking down my baggy band T-shirt. The lights aren't on, but he's clearly listening to something. Gripping the railing blindly, I start stepping slowly down the stairs. As I reach the last bottom step, it becomes clear.

He isn't listening to Beethoven or Mozart, like I suspected. No, it's actually him playing. He plays _that good_ that I've actually mistaken him for a CD. I can barely see the outline of him near that large piano near the window as he sits on the bench, playing. I feel captivated, entranced, as I pause by the steps, listening. I cannot believe how well he plays. It's really stunning.

Stretching my shirt down over my knees again, I start slowly sneaking towards him, concentrating on the melody. I wonder if he does this a lot, when he can't sleep. Is he finding it hard to sleep too?

I've barely just reached him when suddenly he stops playing abruptly. He turns around on the bench to look at me from where I stand, but his face is too covered in shadows. It's impossible to know if he's mad that I was listening to him, if he's angry I'm up. I remember his other silly curfew; the bedtime one at eleven o'clock at night. Will he try force me to go back into my bed? The thought is laughable; him forcing me, a pretty much full-grown young woman, back into the bed.

"It's late. I didn't expect you to be up," he murmurs, and I think I catch a note of shock in his voice. Obviously he didn't expect me to come out. "Did I wake you with the noise?"

"No, you didn't. Can't sleep?"

"I can't."

"Same. I'm actually finding it really hard to sleep myself." I don't know whether he minds me doing it or not, but I help myself, stepping over the bench. I sit beside him, waiting for him to start playing again. My ears ring from the silence. "Keep going," I whisper, prompting him. "You play really amazingly." Up closer, sitting beside him on the long bench, I can make out his hands. He keeps them resting on his knees. "I actually thought it was a CD that you were playing at first. Can you play more and keep going?"

I am almost waiting for the moment he comments on the time; It seems like something he would do. But after a second of seeming hesitation, he brings up his hands again. I try to watch them through the dimness as he resumes playing that lovely yet depressing tune, the melody rising between us. I feel mesmerized, not only listening to how he plays, but also the way he uses his hands. His long fingers hover and move over the keys artfully, skillfully, like a dance.

"Have you been playing long?" I ask him through the music.

"Since I was six, Anastasia."

He reaches over me to stroke a key, and it dawns onto me how close I must be sitting on the bench next to him. His shoulder brushes against me, as well as his forearm, the heat of him warming through my baggy shirt. I bite down on my lip, aware I feel rather hot in the face for some reason, and I clasp both hands together in my lap tightly. I try to focus on the melody rather than anything else. I wonder what story it's trying to say.

"What's this song about?" I ask curiously. "Like the tune? What's the story supposed to be behind it?"

"It's a tragedy about two lovers, Anastasia. Two lovers that cannot be together," Christian breathes, his voice rough. I clench my eyes shut, listening carefully, trying to get the picture myself. As the melody goes more melancholy, I can almost sense it, the grief, the pain. "In the end, he's... forced to give up on her, accept what cannot be." I feel my heart seize with emotion at the lilting, poignant sound, his commentary on the two poor lovers. "So, in the end...in all of his misery, he wanders out to the sea. That morning, he decides to walk deep into the ocean."

His shoulder rubs against mine again lightly, the small hairs on his arm prickling me.

"Then what happens to him? Does he ever... come out?"

"He drowns," he explains, and with my eyes closed, I can see it then, so clearly. "His body washes up onto the shore. And when she learns that he's dead, she knows the truth." I can see him. His body washing up onto the sand. People standing over him. The imagery fits the music so perfectly. "He couldn't be without her so he walked into the ocean to drown himself. He committed suicide- for _her_ , for everything they couldn't be." Abruptly, he stops playing, the piece coming to an end.

It takes me a moment to reopen my eyes. I glance over at him in the darkness, blinking heavily. I think he's looking right at me through the darkness.

"That's really sad, but beautiful all at the same time," I mutter, my voice shaky with emotion. "So that's what it's about? The sound? They couldn't be together, the two lovers, so he... he killed himself by walking into the ocean? He killed himself by letting himself drown all because he couldn't endure the pain and agony of being without her, Christian?"

He makes a noise, a breathy noise. It takes me a moment too long to realize he's actually laughing at me.

"What?" I ask suspiciously. He makes that noise again; Yes, he is definitely laughing at me. But why? Why would he laugh over something so morbidly sad? "Are you laughing, Christian?" Without thinking, I lean over, nudging my shoulder into his. "You think it's funny? That suicide is a laughing matter?"

"Of course not," he says. "But I made it up. The story about the two lovers that can't be together."

"Are you serious?" I don't know whether to laugh or to get mad. "You made that up? The whole thing?"

"I did." I can tell he's proud of himself for pulling the wool over my eyes so successfully. His voice shakes and trembles. "I don't actually know the story behind the piece or what it's even about."

I run my fingers through the long strands of my hair, incredulous. How could he do that to me? "That wasn't very nice," I point out stiffly. "I actually thought you were telling me the truth?"

He laughs again, and I think it's one of the very first times I've heard him actually have a good, sincere full laugh at something since my entire two days of being here. His laugh is sort of... cute, even if it is all at my expense.

"Guess my staff were wrong about me after all," he mutters, somewhat brightly. He lifts up both hands, starting to play again- though a different, more upbeat song this time around.

"Your staff were wrong with what?"

"They like to often say that I don't seem to have a lighthearted bone in my body. I suppose they were wrong."

"I guess so," I murmur in agreement. "Though, I have to question your brand of humor, if you truly do find that sort of thing amusing?" I fall quiet, listening again. "Did you teach yourself to play like this or did you have a tutor?"

"I taught myself."

"Wow. You must have worked really hard to learn then?"

"I suppose I did, although... I'm not afraid of working hard to master something."

My fingers itch to hit one of the keys playfully. Because I've never been too good with resisting impulse, I unclasp my hands, reaching up, tapping a few random keys with my forefinger and middle finger, marring his perfect melody.

I hear the impatient hiss he gives out. "Don't touch, Anastasia," he breathes. "Just listen."

Then his shoulder is brushing against mine again as he reaches over. It feels as though my heart has ceased functioning when he wraps his long fingers over my wrist, pulling my hand down and away from the keys. He lets go just as suddenly to start playing again but I feel his rough, warm fingers still on my skin somehow, even seconds later. I like him touching me. I really, _really_ like it. Is that wrong?

* * *

Next morning, I end up beating him at being the first one to make use of his gym room. When I head in, wearing my band T-shirt, sports bra, and the same grey track-pants I wore yesterday, I see that the room is unoccupied with him nowhere to be seen. I sigh loudly as I wander over to peer out the window while using both hands to tighten the hairband that holds up all of my hair into a neat pony-tail.

It's almost pitiful, how disappointed I feel at not catching him shirtless exercising like I had yesterday morning. It is probably perverted of me, but him shirtless, exercising, it had truly been a royal feast for the eyes. No guy should look that good all sweaty without a shirt on, even if he is older than me by quite a decent mark.

I think last night over while getting started with my stretching as I move barefooted to the cushioned red yoga mat. I still cannot get over how well he plays the piano. If he ever wanted to, he could have easily given up his day job to become a successful, professional musician. He's definitely good enough.

Inhaling in deeply through my nose, I shut my eyes while reaching up with one arm, working on stretching my triceps. I remember the way it felt when he touched me, when he pushed my hand away all because he didn't want me touching his piano. His hand had felt good. _Real_ good.

Suddenly, I think I hear his voice coming from down the hallway. My heart starts pounding as I reopen my eyes swiftly, and I lift both arms, rotating my shoulders back and forward.

"...I'm just calling to make sure it went in," I think I hear him say. His voice gets nearer and nearer. "So it did? The twenty four thousand was successfully transferred over into your account then?"

I love the way he says it, about _twenty four thousand_ being transferred into someone else's account. He talks like that ridiculous amount is nothing, like money grows on trees or something.

"Excellent. That's good to hear. So you're having a good time, then?"

Suddenly, I catch his figure in the entryway to his personal gym, and as I swivel around towards the sound of his voice, I realize I'm right. Christian stands there, phone pressed to his ear and an unopened water bottle in his free hand, dressed in nothing but low hanging beige track pants, shirtless. He truly is a sight to behold. I keep my eyes on him while pulling up one leg behind me, balancing while holding onto my foot, stretching my quads. Just like I noticed yesterday when I was doing my playful little squats and teasing stretches, he watches me, his gray eyes running slowly down my body. I hope he is checking me out.

"What?" he bursts out, and he looks away from me quickly. I wonder who he's talking to. A staff member, maybe? "Yes, she's fine. Everything's... well." He darts a quick look at me, and then he saunters past me, moving towards the window to look out of it. "I think she's settling in fine. Naturally, it'll take some time, of course." _She? What? Is he talking to someone about me?_ "I know." I hear him sigh loudly as he listens to the person on the other line for a moment. He sounds... troubled? Without warning, he turns on his side, lifting his chin to look at me quickly. _Oops, have I been caught out eavesdropping?_

I try to look as innocent as possible while switching legs, balancing on the other one, asserting a slight pressure with my hand. "Hi," I mouth, smiling sweetly at him.

He merely shakes his head at me before avoiding my gaze. He reaches down to plop his water bottle on the floor, then he uses his thumb and forefinger to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Alright." He sounds so frustrated. I wonder why? "I'll talk to you later then. Bye." He stabs his thumb into the button, disconnecting the call.

He doesn't even say good morning to me, which I'm sort of expecting. Instead, he ignores me, keeping his gaze low to his bare feet as he steps towards his weights machine. He doesn't turn to sit and use it. Instead, he reaches up, gripping the bar that runs along the top of it tight with both hands. I realize what that bar is used for when he starts pulling himself up, lifting his entire body weight off the ground. He gives off a deep grunt as he hauls himself all the way up until his chin just touches the bar, then he lowers himself slowly, his upper arms and his bicep muscles straining.

I shouldn't even be watching him, but I can't help it. I watch the tendons in his back ripple as he does it a few more times, lifting himself up, his entire body weight. It's pretty impressive and, seeing as he must be around six feet tall, it surely can't be easy.

"You must have really strong upper body strength to be able to do that," I comment without thinking. Oh, great. Here goes my silly mouth again. _Did I really just say that out loud?_

He lets his feet touch the ground, though he doesn't release his grip on the bar. He glances behind his shoulder at me, giving me a look. His lips are parted; He's breathing heavily. "You think, Anastasia?" he pants, and he sounds really breathless.

"It's pretty impressive." He starts moving again, pulling himself up with another grunt through his mouth. I feel my cheeks redden as I watch his back, the way his muscles ripple over his forearms. I am definitely being a pervert. Even with the slightest sounds he makes- those grunts and rapid breaths- they sound so good. Sexy, even. "I bet I couldn't even do a single one of those without falling flat on my ass afterwards."

It becomes clear to me that he isn't so much of a willing conversationalist while he's doing chin-ups. I suppose I can't really blame him, though. I don't think I'd be either.

Forcing my eyes away, I focus strictly on stretching, reaching down to touch the tips of my toes with my fingers, feeling that burn in my thighs and my buttocks. I may also be listening carefully to the noises he makes while doing it- the groans, the pants.

When I clench my eyes shut, ignoring the painful burn in my backside, I can almost imagine his pants and groans are due to other things entirely, and not necessarily exercise. My face feels hot at the thought.

"Are you done?" He murmurs impatiently, his voice strained, exhausted, and once I reopen my eyes and slowly cave into standing upright, I realize he's standing right near me, a sheen of sweat on his abdominal muscles, his hair darker and rather damp.

"What?" I ask in confusion.

"With the mat." He's still panting heavily as he points down at my feet while he squints hard at me. "Are you done with your stretches now?"

"Oh." The instance I step back off the yoga mat, he sinks to his feet. "Um, yeah. I...I guess I am."

Without preamble, Christian starts doing sit-ups, holding his hands behind his head. His eyes meet mine, a focused, determined look in them. He grimaces and breathes shallowly as he stares up at me, and I realize all I would have to basically do is step forward and then I would be standing over him. I shake my head at the weird thought, biting down on my lip. _Wow, what is wrong with me?_

"Get me my water," he demands out of nowhere, and I blink down at him.

"What?"

"My bottle of water, Anastasia," he repeats, grimacing at what is probably a very terrible burn from his furious round of sit-ups. "Can you get it for me?"

"Sure, I suppose I can do that for you." Snapping out of it, I step around him, heading towards where he's placed his water on the floor. I notice his phone on the window ledge. "Did you get a difficult phone call?" I ask conversationally while snatching up the bottle.

"What gave you that impression?"

"Well, maybe because you sounded rather... frustrated on the phone?" I step in between his splayed legs, holding out his unopened water for him. Like I've startled him or something strange from appearing in front of him, Christian falls back on his elbows, breathing up at me. "Was that a staff member or something?"

"Or something," he breathes, and he reaches up, accepting the bottle from me. "There was an issue at work."

"Right. You said 'she'?"

"What?" He glances up at me questioningly.

"You said 'she', like you were... speaking of someone? A girl? A woman?"

He simply shrugs. "Thank you," he adds quietly for the water, like he just reminded himself to say it to be polite.

"No problemo," I whisper lightly, folding my arms over my chest.

He opens it, avoiding my gaze. "Are you still going out later today to visit Pike Place Market and see the sights like you talked about last evening at dinner?"

I still haven't forgotten. "Yes, definitely, I am. But it's only seven o'clock, so I thought I'd come in here and work out a little first." Or maybe just catch him shirtless again also while I was at it.

"Well, remember what I said," he mutters, staring at the bottle lid as he closes his hand over it, into a tight fist. Why isn't he meeting my gaze? It's like he is ashamed to look at me all of a sudden. Yes, I'm basically standing between his feet, but so what? I thought he said he wasn't prudish last night? "Remember to inform either-"

"-Yes, either Taylor or Sawyer, Christian," I speak over him in irritation, a bit louder than intended. "I think I got it the first time. You've only already told me this like... five times now. I think I get it."

"And your curfew," he adds curtly, and I notice his fisted hand is trembling. What? Is he trying to crush the lid to the water bottle or something? "Remember, no later than-"

"- _Nine thirty_ , yes, Christian," I get out, just as loudly and annoyed as before. "Like I said, I'm pretty sure that I got you the first time. I mean, all you've done ever since I've been here is lay rules down on me. I like to think that I have a pretty good memory, so you don't have to constantly remind me."

I don't mean to get so aggravated with him, but I can't help it. I am so not used to this. When I lived with my mother, whenever I would visit Ray, they were never this strict with me. They would never lay down such ridiculous sounding rules like curfews and that I should inform someone whenever I'd want to go do something. I wonder why he's like this. Was Bob and his childhood like this, with his entire family and his siblings?

"Did you have curfews and a certain time-frame of when you had to be home when you were younger?" I ask, unable to contain my curiosity. There has to be a reason for this.

He sighs loudly as he opens his fingers, revealing the bottle top. It's not crushed. "I fail to see what this has to do with anything, Anastasia?"

"Well, was Bob's and your adopted parents really strict and authoritative when you were growing up? Did they force all of these rules onto you, like curfews and things?"

"No, they didn't. Our parents have always been quite... liberal and supportive in the ways that they have raised us. Why do you ask?"

"I guess I'm just merely trying to understand why you are the way that you are? I'm trying to understand why you are being like this?"

Finally, he lifts his eyes to look up at me, blinking slowly. "How am I being, Anastasia?" he asks quietly, his confusion evident. I cannot believe he can't see how unfair he is being.

"How about... strict? Unreasonable, maybe?"

He holds my gaze as he brings the bottle of water to his mouth, and he swallows down a few mouthfuls. He shrugs as he sits up carefully, resting the bottle on his kneecap. I notice he shoves his feet wider apart, like he's anxious about accidentally touching me, even in the briefest, most meaningless and harmless way. "I fail to see how it's unreasonable or strict, the rules that I have for you, Anastasia. This is all about your safety."

 _All about my safety?_ "Are you always like this?" I ask, waving a hand down at him. "So... strict and-" I pause, unsure how to put it.

"Am I always like what?" he prompts. "Am I always so strict and _what_ , Anastasia?"

I shrug helplessly, flapping my hand around. "- God, I... I don't know!"

"Your mother would be pleased with how I'm being," he murmurs, and it's like a knife jolting into my back, hurting me, because she still hasn't called me back or tried to contact me whatsoever. "I'm sure your mother would appreciate it that I'm taking this seriously, that I'm holding myself... responsible if anything were to happen to you. This is the way she'd want it."

"I doubt it," I grumble quietly. It's funny how he speaks like he knows my mother, yet I'm sure he doesn't. He didn't even attend the wedding, after all. "Have you even met my mother? Did your brother Bob even ever introduce you two?"

Christian takes a moment to answer. "No, he didn't, and I haven't met her yet, Anastasia. But-"

"-Exactly!" I gush out, satisfied at hearing my own point clarified. "You don't know my mother or what she wants in how you treat me while I'm staying here. The Carla I know, my mother, she has always been extremely relaxed and liberal in her parenting. I could do whatever I wanted, whenever I felt like I wanted. She let me watch whatever I wanted, she let me go out and see friends whenever I wanted, come home whenever I wanted. Not once have I ever had to have a curfew or... _anything_ like that!"

"Then you were extremely spoiled, weren't you?"

Spoiled? The blood rushes to my face. I hardly see how that is me being spoiled, just because my mother allowed me to be my own person? "I don't see how-"

"-Enough!" he snaps with finality, and for the first time since I've been here the past two days, he's actually raising his voice at me. I shrink and cower a little, shocked. I wasn't expecting him to lift his voice to me at all. "We've already discussed this numerous times, Anastasia, about how... unhappy you are by the curfew and everything else that I've asked of you, and how you find it to be unfair." He pauses, breathing heavily. He combs his fingers through his hair, and I think he's trying to calm even himself down. "Your mother sent you _here_ , to me. She sent you here, to me, _for me_ to look after you. Due to that, I'm the one in charge here, I'm the adult, I make the rules. So you will do as I say."

When he meets my gaze, I see the anger blaring in his eyes, the stern severity in his gaze. It's off-putting, I can't pretend it isn't.

"Is that understood, Anastasia? Am I making myself perfectly clear to you? Or do I..." He hesitates, biting down on his bottom lip with his teeth, as if he's worried he might be saying too much. Something shines in his eyes at some secret thought he's having, something like pleasure or... joy? Then I suppose he decides to continue with his threat, his lecture or whatever it is, because he says, "Do I need to _do something_ to ensure that I am?"

 _What? Does he need to do something? Do what?_

"Am I making myself clear enough?" he repeats, his voice low, throaty.

I ignore him stubbornly. "Please just tell Gail that, while I really enjoy her cooking and I appreciate the vegan meals she makes for me, can she not bother with making me any dinner tonight," I say, as level as I can, but my voice fails. It shakes.

"Why? Why wouldn't you want her to make you dinner?"

"Because I'll probably be eating dinner out on my own tonight after my exploring and touring of Seattle."

I can just tell that isn't what he wants me to say, it isn't what he wants to hear. He wants me to reassure him that he is making himself clear, that I understand, that I agree. There is no way in hell I am giving into him; I find him to be rather rude and domineering, so why should I give him the satisfaction? He can't treat people like this.

I stare at him for a moment, licking my lips. His eyes inspect my face, waiting, expectant, for my answer, for my obedience over his stupid rules and his stupid way of treating me like a child. I simply stare back at him, trying to muster up the most hateful, defiant look I can manage. His fingers tighten over his water bottle, the plastic crackling under his grip. Then, turning my back on him, I storm out of the gym room. There is no way I am going to be treated like an infant.

No, today I am going to enjoy seeing the sights of Seattle. I am going to enjoy the market and enjoy looking around, and I am going to take my time. Whether I end up coming back in time or not for his curfew, I just don't care.

 **Thank you so much for your lovely response and the alerts I have received, it's so nice of you! I probably can't do a Christian POV as it will reveal what's going on, but I promise you will find out what is happening very soon. :) I'll try update roughly 3-4 times a week, hopefully if life doesn't prevent me from not updating that often. As usual, I would love to know what you think and appreciate your thoughts and speculation. Hope the way I've written Ana isn't too annoying or bratty, but I think that balance is important in comparison to Christian in this story lol. I get so nervous updating so I hope it's okay!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you so much for being so kind. I am especially nervous about this one lol! Please don't be too angry with me!**

* * *

 **Temptation Builds Chapter 6**

I spend the morning taking it easy, wandering the streets, trying to read my map and the tourist guide of Seattle properly to find where the Pike Place Market is. When I do eventually end up finding it, it's already past twelve and it's crowded with people at stalls, buying certain things, looking around. I wander through it, blending in with the crowd, peering at vegetables for sale and other foods. Then I notice a girl, about my age or so, standing at a stall where there are cute little homemade jewelry and bracelets for sale. Her hair is blonde, wavy and long, and she's wearing a sleeveless black T-shirt and a floral miniskirt. She smiles at me when I come closer, checking out the jewelry.

"Hi," she says.

"Hi. Did you make these yourself?"

"Sort of," she admits with a shrug. "Some of them, mostly the bracelets." She points out the bracelets and I step closer looking at them. They are really pretty, in different colored beads. "I'm Kate, by the way. Do you come here often?"

"Um, hi. I'm Ana. And no, this is pretty much my first time being here." I glance around at all the people walking around us, eating and talking, feeling overwhelmed. "It gets pretty busy here?"

"Yeah, well. That's the Seattle market's for you. They tend to get pretty busy, especially on the weekends." I'm surprised by how talkative she is, how open. Some people consider it to be obnoxious and sort of in-your-face intimidating, but with her, it's different. She's just so friendly and nice. "Are you from around here?"

"No, I'm not. I practically just started living here two days ago, so this is basically my first time checking everything out here."

"Oh, cool. So you just moved here then?" Her blue eyes light up with curiosity. "How are you finding it?"

"Pretty good so far. My mother got remarried and she's off on her honeymoon with her new husband, so I'm stuck here for six months." I glance up at her nervously, wondering if I've aired too much out about my life, only she seems interested and happy to listen. She just has one of those things about her where you feel like you can tell her anything. It's a nice change from what I'm used to. "It wasn't too difficult to find where this place was fortunately." I squeeze the tourist guide and map I'm holding in my hands meaningfully. "Guess the guide wasn't lying. I haven't gotten lost yet."

"Cool. So what are you doing right now?"

"Now?" I ask in surprise.

She pulls her phone out of her pocket, checking the time. "Yeah, like... in the next ten minutes? You got anywhere you need to be?"

"No. Nowhere, actually. Well, I was basically just going to check out the market some more. Then my next plan was seeing the Space Needle, but that's about it so far, there's nowhere I really need to be. Why?"

"Then how about we do lunch together?" she asks, eyeing me with her clear blue eyes. Then she bites down on her bottom lip, hesitant. "Or is that too... weird, seeing as we only just basically met? Is that weird, asking you to hang out and have lunch with me?"

I'm so happy she's asked, because otherwise I wouldn't know what else to do. I could really use a friend right now. I beam at her, grinning happily. "Not at all. Lunch sounds great."

"Awesome. I can go in, like, ten minutes for my lunch break if you're cool with waiting? Then I can show you a nice place where they do really good nachos and burritos?"

"Sure, I can wait ten minutes."

Ten minutes later, Kate switches over with a guy in the stall, then she grabs her frilly leather bag, shoving it over her shoulder. She waits around for a moment, picking something out. Then as she appraoches me, she plays with one of the little blue beaded bracelets from the stall that she sells, playing with it with her fingers. "Here, I got one for you," she says, handing it out to me. I feel bad taking it, but she insists. "Come on, I made it myself. No one will miss it."

"Okay," I agree happily, accepting it from her. I stretch it over my wrist, marveling at how cool it is, how nice she is. "Thank you so much!"

"No problem. Let's go to that place I mentioned."

I follow her, walking close to her through the busy market.

She's actually really nice and easy to talk to. I can see us becoming close friends. We seem to have quite a few things in common; She loves old classic bands like The Rolling Stones and The Beatles and she's into some of the indie music that I'm into, too. She's also tried to be vegan, but failed after two weeks.

"I couldn't do it for very long," she confesses, and I notice her hands tend to fly around as she speaks, because she's so enthusiastic and open. "I just love my cheese too much."

"I know, I've always loved cheese, too. The sacrifice seemed worth it, though. Sometimes I do find myself craving it every now and then though, which is... hard."

"Yeah, that was totally my problem and why I couldn't do it. The cheese was too tempting for me. Like yeah, I get it, it's rather cruel when you think about it, using animal's for our food. But cheese is just one of those things I cannot give up, you know?"

It takes us about ten minutes to find the place she mentioned. It's called Tex-Mex, and she assures me again that it's the best place to get takeaway Mexican food.

"I'm pretty sure they have vegan options too," she explains as we head inside, standing in line.

"Cool," I murmur, peering up at the menu. "It sounds really good. I'm starving."

Kate ends up getting nachos, while I end up getting a burrito with beans and rice, and guacamole. All vegan, the woman across the counter assures me. We sit at a table by the window and it doesn't take long for us to get our food.

I ended up using some of the money my mother gave me for being here. She gave me eight hundred dollars to take care of food or any personal items I needed during my stay here, but I'm not sure whether Christian expects me to pay him board or anything like that.

"So your Mom's on her honeymoon?" Kate asks curiously as we start eating. She spreads more melted cheese onto one of her nachos, then shoves it into her mouth, crunching loudly.

"Yeah, she's away for six months," I explain to her through a mouthful of my burrito. She's right; The food here is delicious. And it wasn't that expensive either. "She never told me where she went, though." Kate raises her perfectly arched eyebrows at me. "I don't know why. Her and Bob- that's her new husband- they've been real secretive. I don't even know where they are."

"Sounds strange," she muses. "I'd be so pissed off if my dad ever left with his new girlfriend and didn't tell me where they were heading. Have you asked her whereabouts they were going?"

"I did a few times, before she sent me off. She was just really... vague. I could tell she didn't want to tell me." Although it hurts, talking about it, it's also nice as well. Kate seems really understanding and I find it nice to vent to somebody like her, somebody near to my age, somebody who seems to get me completely.

"So who are you staying with now? I can't remember if you told me already?"

"Well, my Mom's new husband apparently has this younger brother so I'm staying with him at the moment."

"Cool. So what's he like? As old as your Mom's new husband?"

"No, he isn't actually. He's younger, apparently adopted into the family like her new husband was. He's thirty one, and yeah, I suppose he's okay." I shrug, glancing down at the rice and beans that have fallen on my plate from the messy burrito. Talking about Christian, it makes me feel funny. "He's real bossy though," I admit, scooping up some rice off the plate with my fingers, sucking it back into my mouth. "He's so strict."

"I hate that," Kate gushes in annoyance, chomping on another nacho. "I hate it when older people think they have the right to be strict and rude. It's like, yeah, I'm younger than you, but so what? It doesn't give you the right to tell me what to do, you know?"

"Exactly." We both laugh. "You've hit the nail on the head. He even gave me a nine-thirty curfew for being out here today."

Her eyes widen at me as she licks salsa off the corner of her mouth. "You're kidding?"

"Nope, unfortunately I'm not. He says I have to be home by nine-thirty tonight."

"That's total bullshit," Kate whispers in outrage. "How old are you, by the way?"

"I'm seventeen." She gasps at the unfairness of it all and I laugh again, finding such relief in talking about it to someone. "I know, right?"

"Seventeen and he gives you a fucking curfew at nine-thirty? I mean, I'm seventeen too, so we're pretty much the same age."

"You'd think I'm fourteen or something with the way he treats me, enforcing all these new rules onto me."

"Yeah, that's really weird, Ana," Kate murmurs thoughtfully. She shakes her head. "How stupid and... disrespectful. I mean, it isn't like your a kid, is it? You should be able to do what you wanna do? If my father or somebody started doing that with me, I'd totally rebel."

"I know, right? I mean, that's what I've basically been trying to tell him ever since he unloaded all of these rules onto me. He just doesn't seem to understand how unnecessary it is."

We fall silent at the same time, munching down on our food. I am so pleased that I ended up meeting her.

"It's great that you asked me to have lunch with you," I murmur, working around a mouthful of beans. "I could definitely use a friend right now, since I've practically been dumped here into Seattle by my mother. It would be nice to have a friend."

"I totally get that." She nods, smiling at me. "I mean, I have some friends here, but not close friends. I know a few guys that are pretty cool to hang with, but... some of the girls here that I know are rather bitchy." She gazes at me speculatively. "Do you have a boyfriend back home where you're from?"

"Nope, I don't. I'm not even really... looking for one."

"Same. Guys and boyfriends can be so overrated, right?" She bites another nacho, smearing avocado all over it. "At least you don't have one back home. I hear long distance relationships are pretty hard?"

"Yeah, I would have been so mad to leave to Seattle if I _was_ in a relationship with someone. That would have complicated things even more."

"We should do this again sometime," she suggests, and I am so pleased. "I mean, if you want to? I don't mean to sound all desperado-for-a-friend or anything?"

That's sort of me, I realize. _I'm_ the desperado, in need of a friend. "No, not at all. It would be great to hang out with you again, Kate." We end up exchanging numbers on our phones and suddenly, my situation doesn't seem to dire and hopeless and boring. At least I'll have a friend to hang out with, and hopefully since Kate lives here full-time, she can invite me out and show me places. Maybe even introduce me to some of her friends. It would be great to spend time with people similar to me, similar to my age; People I can vent my frustrations out to.

We finish our lunch, and Kate and I head back out onto the streets of Seattle after thanking the woman behind the counter.

"So you work in the stall at the market?" I ask her.

"I do, but... it's just a short-term thing. I'm trying to get some money so I can get into college. Funds are pretty tight with my father at the moment."

"Oh, cool. I was starting to look at colleges back at home, but now that I'm here, it's sort of... thrown my plans out of the water. I don't know whether to start applying if I'm going to be here for six-months and not a full-time stay. I'm not too sure I want to commit to anything permanent right now."

"Well, it would be awesome if we could go to college together," Kate says. "You should totally consider applying for ones around here in Seattle anyway? You never know how long your Mom intends to be away with her new husband."

Her saying that, it startles me a little bit. What if my mother intends to have a longer honeymoon with Bob? What if I'm stuck at Christian's place in Seattle forever? Surely not, though. My mother would never do that to me, would she? Is that why she hasn't been returning my call or my texts? Because she just literally dumped me off into Christian's care?

"Anyway, I better head back to the market," Kate says, tearing me out of my stressful thoughts. "But you should text me, and we should hang out again some time? You can even meet some the guys I know? Some of them are pretty cute?" She arches her eyebrows at me, wiggling them a little.

 _Wow, I've only just met her and already, she's trying to set me up with the guy's she knows._

"Maybe," I agree with a laugh. "But I will definitely text you. We'll have to hang out again, definitely."

"Awesome. I better head back then." Startling me, she steps forward, putting her arm around my back, hugging me. I wasn't expecting it at all, and I blink heavily before returning the hug awkwardly with a laugh. "Text me soon."

"I will do," I promise, and she pulls back. I watch her walk back to the markets, disappearing through the crowds.

Suddenly being stuck here seems more promising. It would be nice to have something to do so I'm not stuck in Christian's house all day. It will be nice to be social and spend company with people my age.

I check my phone for the time, undecided on what to do now. It's just turned two o'clock, and I didn't realize Kate and I must have spent a long time eating our food at the Mexican place. I bring out my map again, deciding I may as well try find this landmark, the Space Needle. Even if I lose my way, I sort of don't care. Wandering around, seeing something new, getting a bit of physical activity in is good enough for me right now.

I end up finding the Space Needle, though it takes around a half an hour walk. Since I don't have a camera, I just use the one on my phone, taking shots and selfies of myself standing near random things. I consider sending a picture to my mother, but then what's the point? Would she even get back to me or is she too busy and wrapped up in a lovesick cocoon, enamored with Bob and the activity of their honeymoon, wherever they are?

My phone goes off, alerting me to a message just as I'm done with taking a picture. I check it, and then I grin. It's Kate:

 _Was great meeting you Ana. Please let's do it again. Are you free tomorrow? We should hang out again. Meet me at my stall?_

I write back:

 _Yes, I am free tomorrow. Was great meeting you too._  
 _Please let's do something tomorrow, hopefully if I'm not murdered by the time I get home if I miss my curfew._

Barely a minute later, she replies:

 _Don't worry, I have the police on speed dial. If I don't hear back from you tonight or tomorrow morning, I'll call them to make them start searching for you. ;)_

I smile happily, breathing in deeply through my nose. For the first time since being here, I think I am finally starting to feel happier and more content, all thanks to Kate. It's nice to have something to look forward to tomorrow. She seems really nice and fun, and hopefully she _will_ introduce me to some hot guys my age.

* * *

When I walk to the building where Christian lives, it's a lot darker. Streetlamps light up the streets, bathing it in an eerie glow. People are still out walking about, talking with friends, so it mustn't be that late.

After spending the rest of the afternoon exploring, taking random pictures with my camera phone of old buildings, I had gone into a shop that I can't even remember what it's name was for dinner. It was an avocado wholemeal sandwich, probably not as good as Gail's cooking, but it filled my stomach up well enough and I enjoyed the time alone, texting Kate playfully.

I head inside, pressing the button that calls the elevator. Then I check my phone.

Oops. I'm five minutes late, and I giggle to myself. What's the worst that he can do to me though? Scold me like I'm a child for only being five minutes late? I'm not afraid of him, and I _did_ tell him this morning to tell Gail not to bother cooking me any dinner, so I _did_ tell him I was eating out alone tonight. What right does he have to get angry with me?

I couldn't find either Sawyer or Jason Taylor around to tell them that I was leaving, so it isn't my fault. It's not my problem. He knew I had intended to go exploring Seattle anyway.

The elevator door opens, and I press it up to the penthouse floor. Then I rummage through my bag, remembering the little code he wrote me to gain access into the room. I find the paper, and I hold it as the elevator ascends. I meet my reflection in the mirror as I breathe deeply, and I reach up, pushing a strand of my hair behind my ear. The elevators too quiet. There isn't even any catchy music playing, which is odd.

It's been a long day and I feel quite exhausted. It was fun, meeting Kate especially. I cannot wait for tomorrow. I hope she does end up introducing me to some pretty cute guys.

The elevator reaches the floor and I press in the code, then it opens up into the foyer. I step in, noticing its dark. Why isn't there any lights on? It's pretty creepy. Another step forward blindly and I end up stumbling into something, my sneaker catching onto something that feels weirdly like a leg or someone's shoe.

I laugh and smile to myself as I tumble and fall down on the floor, grazing my knees on the carpet. Thank God I'm wearing jeans otherwise that would have hurt. _God, whose smart idea was it not to leave the lights on?_ Licking my lips while looking behind me curiously, I brush the long strands of hair that have fallen forward due to the impact out of my eyes and away from my face. _And why did I trip over-_

"Whoa. Are you alright?"

 _Oh, great._ My heart stammers as it all seems to make dreadful sense on me. I tripped over Christian's leg, it must have been. _What? Was he waiting for me to arrive home while he sat in the armchair in the dark foyer to his penthouse? Paranoid much?_

"Oh my God, Christian," I mutter out loud in annoyance, laughing again. "Why are all the lights off in here? And why are you just sitting there in the dark? Oh, let me guess. You were waiting for me to make sure I didn't break your stupid curfew, weren't you?"

I hear him stand and move, the soles of his shoes scuffling behind me against the carpet, but he doesn't come in front of me, holding a hand out to me. He doesn't help me up or offer any assistance. Rude.

"You're late, Anastasia. _Seven_ minutes late." I'm startled by how different his voice sounds. It's low, devoid of most emotion, although I can tell he's exasperated. "What did I tell you?"

"Are you always this rude?" I huff out, feeling out my phone on the carpet where I dropped it. I clutch it in my hand, getting to my knees. "It's fine. Don't even bother helping me get-"

When it happens, it's like the words strangle and die in my throat.

I gasp, my mind erasing of all previous thought or feeling, flinching, when he does it. He hits me. Christian _actually hits me_ \- on my backside, seeing as I'm scrambling to get up on the floor! One moment, I'm trying to get up off the floor onto my knees, annoyed at him for leaving the foyer lights off and not bothering to help me up, then his hand connects with my backside through my jeans! He just _spanked_ me, _hit_ me! What the hell?

"Excuse me," I squeeze out, my face numb. "Did you just-" The words falter, I'm that speechless. Where he spanked me, I can feel it. A radiating heat through my backside, a light tingling.

I hear him breathing deeply behind me, laborious, excited, like he's jogging up a flight of stairs.

"What did I tell you?" he breathes, his voice hoarse. "What did I tell you, Anastasia? What were my simple rules?"

Without warning, he does it again, but I catch the shadow of his arm this time, his hand from the way my head is angled. He lifts up, and then he hits me again, right in the center of my buttocks through the fabric of my jeans. My eyes sting and begin to water, and as the numb shock dissipates over his unexpected actions, anger takes its place.

"You don't get to touch me like that, Christian," I cry out loudly through clenched teeth. When I sit up to glance back at him, icy cold from shock inside, I can barely just see the outline of him. I'm shaking, stunned and infuriated. "This is abuse!"

"Oh, this is abuse, is it, Anastasia?" His voice is so different from how it usually is. It's disturbing. "I asked you to do one simple thing, which was to tell either Sawyer or Taylor beforehand." He pauses for a moment, winded, breathing heavily. "Not only that, but the rule we agreed on was nine thirty, yet you arrive here seven minutes later!"

" _Seven_ minutes, Christian!" I'm screaming, shaking all over. "Seven minutes, and neither Sawyer or Taylor were there for me to talk to before I left!"

"Keep up with talking to me in that loud manner and I'll do it a lot more, Anastasia. I'll do it so hard that you won't be able to sit down for an entire week. Is that what you want?"

"You're not my parent," I can barely speak, let alone breathe. My nose feels clogged with snot. "You _aren't allowed_ to do that to me!"

"Well, what did you expect, Anastasia? As with everything in life, there are consequences." I shriek when he presses his hand up against my backside, my jeans, but he doesn't hit me again. I merely feel the warmth of his large hand, his palm as he cups and rubs through the fabric of my jeans firmly. Is he... trying to stroke me? "This is what happens when you break the rules!"

"I didn't break them!" It's degrading, how shaky and emotional my voice is. I shouldn't have to defend myself to him. "I _told you_ this morning what my plans were in the gym room, I _told_ you, Christian!" I'm breathing heavily, and I feel tears start leaking down my cheeks. "What is wrong with you? You cannot _do thi_ s to a person, particularly not-"

Ignoring my words, he hits me again, this time stepping closer forward behind me as he swoops down with his arm, his hand. It hurts the worst this time, and I can tell he's put all his force behind it, in spanking me. My face contorts as a sob wretches through my mouth. I've had enough. I won't stand for this any longer!

"Don't you _dare_ touch me like that one more time, Christian," I snap, and though it hurts, I clamber to my feet unevenly, stumbling up against the wall. I'm crying, shaking. My ass is going to be bruised, and getting up and moving my buttocks muscles even hurt. "You have _no right_ treating me like this, _doing that_ to me!"

Gripping my phone tight in a clenched fist, I glare at him through the dark, my eyes wet, backside aching already.

"You had no right, spanking me like a... a father punishing his little child! Who the hell do you think you are? Doing _that_ to me?"

I can sense his staring at me through the dark as he pants, like it's really worked him up a sweat. Then I see his shadow move as he goes to grab me from where I stand, cowering by the wall, shouting at him, and it occurs to me he's trying to comfort me, he's trying to hold me. I don't want it at all.

"Don't you touch me," I spit out, struggling out of his arms. I manage to get away, sniffling loudly. The only thing that makes me feel better, the only thing that makes me feel satisfied, is a taunt, an empty threat that I somehow already know is pointless. "I'm going to go call my mother and tell her how you've just abused me," I whisper tonelessly, and I rub my tears away angrily with my fingers quickly. "We'll see what _she_ has to say about this."

And with that, I turn stiffly, running up the stairs to the room where I sleep. I clasp the handle, slamming it closed on myself. Sniffling and crying, I try my mother's number while reaching down, shoving my hand through the fabric at the back of my jeans. My bottom feels sore, overly hot and tender from his spankings. _Who the hell does he think he is, touching me like that?_

"Oh, of course," I mutter furiously when it just rings through. "Don't answer me when I need you now the most, Mom!"

Flinging the phone onto the bed, I try to breathe in deeply, controlling my emotions. I cannot believe what he just did. It was such an invasion, a shock mentally to my system. It was... abuse. Child abuse, even although I'm seventeen, far from a child. He's taking advantage and abusing my common rights as a human being!

"Anastasia?" I hear his footsteps as he approaches down the hallway towards the closed door. My eyes widen as I shrink back to the wall. "Anastasia, can I come in?" He raps his knuckles against the door gently, his voice soft, placating. "I have some painkillers and some warm milk for you."

 _Painkillers and warm milk? What?_

"Go away, Christian!" I scream at the door. "Leave me alone! I...I'm calling my mother!"

But it's too late. I'm reaching down for my phone just as he works the doorknob open. He eyes me warily as he enters, the sleeves of his black business shirt tucked and rolled over his forearms; the glass of warm milk he mentioned in one hand, a bottle of painkillers in the other.

"Here," he murmurs, and he tries to hand me the milk.

"I'm vegan," I snap out weakly. "I...I don't drink cows milk!"

"I know that, Anastasia. It's soy milk."

"Oh." Grudgingly, I take the glass from him, the milk heating my fingers. I cup both hands over it as he struggles to open the pill bottle, and he tips one out into his palm.

"It's Advil. The warm milk will help you feel better and the Advil will ease the pain," he explains, and when I glance up at him through wet eyes, I see he is scrutinizing my face carefully, nervously. "Open your mouth."

"What?" At the same time I speak and my lips part, he takes advantage.

He slips the pill between my parted lips, keeping it there, and I have to physically push it into my mouth so I don't accidentally choke. Eyes still on him, I bring the cup up to my mouth with trembling hands. I manage to swallow the pill easily with some heated milk, at least. And the soy milk tastes good and is comfortingly warm.

"I know it's hard, like the first time always is, but... things are going to be far different now, Anastasia. I know you were the apple of your mother's eye and that she spoiled you, she was too lenient, but things are going to be different while you're here." _What?_ I swallow another sip of milk, peering up at him questioningly. "And soon, with time, you'll be the apple of my eye too. You just need to follow my rules and be a good girl, and then I won't need to punish you."

 **I am hell nervous so I am going to run away I think. I hope it isn't too terrible. Some of you have already guessed what has happened, but hopefully the reveal won't be too predictable, as well as for what Christian wants. I should say this story is going to be quite different, and some of the way I've written certain characters and what they've done will be very unlikable. Hope it isn't minded though.**


	7. Chapter 7

_**Thank you for your comments, they are much appreciated and I enjoyed reading them. Hope this chapter is okay :) Answers will be revealed very soon, and I understand for some it mightn't be the sort of story you were expecting, but I hope its okay.**_

 _ **Also, the characters will be quite unlikable at times and (as some have mentioned) Christian will be darker in ways, but still hopefully have a side to him that's somewhat redeemable. It's not all black and white, I suppose.**_

 _ **Temptation Builds- Chapter 7**_

After what happened and he left me alone, I lay in the bed, curled up on my side, feeling somewhat safe and protected beneath the warm covers, awake for what seems like hours and hours; the lights of Seattle lit up and spilling in through the uncovered window, throwing shadows around the room, illuminating the carpet.

The Advil hadn't seemed to help that much. My backside still feels sore and tender, thrumming with heat, which is why I'm reluctant to so much as move or turn onto my side. New tears spill from my cheeks as I blink slowly, staring out the window. I still feel in a state of shock, though the numbness has died down a little. My throat feels tight, my heart heavy with a mixture of grief and anger. I cannot believe what he dared to do to me. It was so unjustified, no matter what he thinks or says. I know it was.

I wasn't even late and I had obeyed his rules somewhat. I had obeyed the curfew mostly. I was only seven minutes late. How is that such a big deal? And it isn't my fault Sawyer or Jason Taylor were nowhere to be seen so I couldn't inform them that I was heading out. Either way, obeying his rules or not, it still doesn't make his actions justified.

He actually spanked me, a seventeen year old! He actually dared to spank me, despite my protests, despite how abusive and wrong that is on so many levels. I sniffle loudly, bringing up a hand to brush a stray tendril of hair back behind my earlobe, rubbing my moist cheek on the pillow. He isn't my father or anyone. He cannot touch me like that, and then to have the nerve to treat me like that afterwards! To say what he did, all those words of nonsense, as though he was making himself feel better by trying to excuse what he did... The Advil pill and the heated soy milk.

I wonder if he only tried to do those "kind" gestures because he was worried I would be able to reach my mother, like he was... trying to cover his ass or something. But he didn't even apologize afterwards- not that it would make much difference anyway, if he had. What's done had already been done.

His words echo in my mind as I clench my eyes shut tightly, shutting the world out. More tears tickle the side of my face, my nostrils from snot.

 _"I know it's hard, like the first time always is, but... things are going to be far different now, Anastasia. I know you were the apple of your mother's eye and that she spoiled you, she was too lenient, but things are going to be different while you're here."_

How dare he make assumptions about how I was raised, that my mother spoiled me, that she was too lenient on me. He doesn't even know me, he couldn't even begin to imagine what my life was like growing up, with never knowing my true father and what he was like because he died when I was only young, a baby. Having to see Ray, my step-father, battling through his illness. Yet he has the nerve to comment and presume how my mother raised me as a girl?

Yes, my mother was always carefree, to the point where she did let me do whatever I want, whenever I wanted, to a certain extent. That didn't mean she was utterly careless though; No drugs, no boys over at a certain time. No alcohol. My mother had those sorts of rules for me, but as far as I know, they were rules that every person my age has. Something common-sense and reasonable. That doesn't mean she was too lenient or that I was spoiled, does it?

 _"And soon, with time, you'll be the apple of my eye too. You just need to follow my rules and be a good girl, and then I won't need to punish you..."_

Opening my eyes, I stare out the window, my vision blurry. I inhale in deeply as more tears leak down my cheeks. And to say I need to be a good girl, otherwise he'll punish me? That I need to follow his rules- that spanking me was reasonable because I was barely a few minutes later than that ridiculous curfew he piled onto me?

Still, it's abuse. I know it is. He can call it whatever he wants, punishment, whatever. It's still abuse and violating me. He violated my personal space, my body, in spanking me. For the first time I think in my entire life, I feel so uncomfortable, so... lonely and vulnerable. I wish so badly for my mother to contact me, to show me the courtesy in returning my calls or my texts. Is she that happy in her honeymoon driven lovesick bubble that she's neglected me? Does she not worry or care about how I am doing here?

I don't even know how it came to be like this. It has happened so quickly. My mother and I have always been so close. Best friends, even, though it feels strange, referring to my mother as that, a best friend. But it's true. And now, she's missing in action. She's unreachable, and I'm stuck here, with this guy who is utterly unreasonable and unfair; treating me like a child, abusing me by spanking me. I'm so stuck.

I wonder if I can get Bob's number off him, that way I can try calling and see if I can reach my mother through him. But then that would mean I would have to ask Christian and face him, and I don't even want to do that right now. It's funny how I thought he was so good looking, that I found his body hot. I'm seeing him with a whole new pair of eyes now, it's as if my eyes have been opened and I am seeing differently. I see him for what he truly is now, when he did what he did to me.

He may be hot, but being a hottie is nothing. It's what counts on the inside; a person's actions. He was really mean, and he hurt me.

God, it feels like the Advil hasn't worked one bit. A sob tears through my mouth as I reach behind me beneath the sheets gingerly, reaching down beneath the band of my jeans. I couldn't even be bothered getting changed into my pajamas. I was too nervous to even try taking off my jeans in case it started hurting my backside again. I was too nervous to check my bottom in the mirror in the bathroom to see what the damage is and what it looks like. The twangs of aching pain and the burning sensations really seem enough for me right now.

The bracelet I'm wearing gets stuck and caught on the waist of my jeans, and I pull my hand out, playing with the beads with my fingers, sniffling deeply. Just remembering who gave me the bracelet and how nice Kate was today makes my heart feel slightly lighter.

At least I have a friend now. At least I can see her tomorrow hopefully. I just wish I never had to return here where _he_ is ever again. I wish my mother would come home from her honeymoon early and get me. I know she'll be truly outraged once she hears of this.

* * *

I must manage to drift off to sleep. Because next morning, I'm startled awake when a gentle and somewhat hesitant knock comes from outside the bedroom door. I jerk awake, opening my eyes, assaulted by the bright early morning light seeping in through the window.

"Anastasia?" Shit, it's _him._ Him. Another light knock. "Can I come in for a couple of minutes?"

It's like someone has aggressively shaken me awake, bringing me back down into a dark pit of sadness. Immediately, along with his voice, I recall what he did to me last night, what he dared to do. Just his voice alone is enough to make me feel like sobbing again. I shut my eyes tight, keeping still, when I hear the bedroom door creak open. Great, he's coming in. I wish he would just piss off and leave me alone for good.

"Anastasia, are you awake?"

I try to lay as still as humanly possible, keeping my legs still, my arms. I can feel my heart pounding furiously in my chest in alarm, nerves that he'll catch me out faking sleeping just so that I can avoid him, the sicko.

I hear his feet moving across the carpet, the friction of his trousers rustling together. Then he sighs heavily. "Fuck," he breathes, and I try to stop breathing, try to close my mouth and remain still. Only it's no use. Warm tears gush from my eyelids and I know he's noticed it. A wretched cry rises at the back of my throat, my body trembling. "I have to head into work early. I just wanted to check in and make sure that you're alright?"

 _Check in and make sure I'm alright? How the hell can I possibly be alright right now?_

The bed creaks and is weighed down when I feel him sit on the edge of it, near my side. I wish he would just get the hell out of here and leave me alone. Can't he see I want him nowhere near me, not ever?

"I... I thought..." He's panting heavily, and it reminds me of last night, especially with my eyes shut tight. How he breathed so quickly, as though he was getting excited, as though he was gaining pleasure while he spanked me. "I thought everything was alright after I..." He stops, and I hear him sigh again heavily. "After I handed you the soy milk and the Advil and left you alone, I assumed that you felt... better?"

My heart stops when he touches me. He dares to bring up a hand, resting it on my bare arm. Then he starts stroking me gently with his fingers, like he's trying to be comforting, soothing.

"Don't you _dare_ touch me," I cry out with disgust.

Instinctively, I flinch, wiggling my arm away out of his reach. I can't help it, I just don't want him touching me after what he dared to do.

It goes weirdly quiet after that. Just when I'm naively, wishfully thinking that maybe he's gotten the hint, that he's left me alone, I'm left disappointed when I open my eyes slowly, finding him still sitting there on the bed, dressed in a suit and tie. I now find myself happy at the idea of him leaving for work. I don't think I could stand having to be near him this morning.

He isn't looking at me, thank God, which at least is something to feel relieved about. He's staring down at his lap, at his hands, his long fingers that he has laced together.

When I dare peer up at the side of his face as new tears stream silently down my cheeks, I think he looks a little pale. Sick even, like he's... disgusted or something like that. His eyes are creased, his mouth parted, a blank look like he's just eaten something too sour. Good. I hope he _does_ feel sick and bad about himself.

"Do you need some more?" he asks.

"Need some more of _what_ , Christian?" I spit out.

"Some more Advil? If you're in too much pain, I can go heat up another glass of warm milk and bring it in with another Advil if that helps?"

He's not even fucking apologizing to me. Yeah, he sounds pretty sorry and remorseful by tone, sure. But an actual sincere apology would help. "What I would like is for you to just get out of here and leave me alone, Christian," I mutter angrily. "Oh, and what would really help me too is if I could talk to my own mother and make arrangements so I can leave."

When I sneak a look at him again, he still isn't looking at me. He nods once, staring down at his hands again. I hear him breathe a large sigh through his teeth. "That's the thing, isn't it, Anastasia?" He shakes his head, a look of irritation crossing his face. "I can't seem to... to reach them either. Neither your mother nor my brother Robert, and believe me, I tried over four times last night afterwards, after I got... carried away." When he meets my gaze, he looks worried. At first, I resist believing him, but he looks sincere enough. Truthful. He returns his gaze back to his fingers with a shrug. "I remember Robert mentioning something about the phone reception being a potential issue when he asked the favor of me to look after you for the six months, though he... he didn't tell me whereabouts it was that they were going exactly."

It doesn't make sense why his own brother wouldn't have told him where my Mom and him intended to go on their honeymoon. "So Bob said that to you? That... wherever he was planning to take Mom on their honeymoon, that there was a chance the phone reception would be dodgy?"

"Yes, that's right." Christian nods again, lifting his gray eyes to stare out the window. "That's what he said, Anastasia. I meant what I said." His voice is soft with concern. "I don't know where they are. Robert wouldn't tell me the... the specifics. I think he was mainly concerned that I would accidentally reveal it to your mother and ruin the surprise somehow, if I knew."

Well, that's wonderful. How the hell am I supposed to reach my mother then?

"Well, this isn't working out, Christian," I point out shakily. "Me, staying here, particularly not after what... what happened last night." I have to avoid his gaze when he glances over at me, a lump forming in my throat thickly. "I don't want to stay here anymore, so... I would really appreciate it if, somehow, you could keep trying to contact either your brother or my mother so that we can explain to them that I won't be staying here with you for the six months anymore."

I force myself to meet his gaze, even though it feels uncomfortable to. He stares back at me deeply, something there and growing in his gray eyes. I just want to make sure he understands and that he's going to do as I say, that he'll try contact Robert to tell him so that he can return the message to my Mom, even.

"So you want to leave?" He has the nerve to ask, his voice tight. I cannot believe he even has to ask me that. Haven't I made myself clear enough after the abuse last night?

"Hadn't I made it clear enough last night after you did what you did to me, Christian?" I ask in disbelief, my voice trembling incredulously over how shocked he appears by my decision. "What you did to me last night, it was... abuse. Completely degrading considering I'm an adult! You had _no right_ to do that to me!"

"An adult?" A silent laugh escapes him as he shakes his head and glances away from me, staring out the window again, at the view of the sky. "You think you're an adult, Anastasia? Seventeen is hardly an adult."

"Well, I think it's old enough for what you did to me last night to be utterly inappropriate, Christian. You had _no right_ to touch me like that, to... to hit me! It was like a... a violation!"

"Well, if you had listened to me and shown up on time in the first place, then I wouldn't have had to have done what I did, would I, Anastasia?" I almost laugh out loud angrily at his stupid words, because he is so ridiculous. It's like he cannot even see the point I'm making. What? So it's my fault now? He's blaming me for _his_ actions?

"A few _minutes_ , Christian!" I utter, my voice rising. "I was only a _few minutes late_ , mainly because _your elevator_ was slow and it took me a few _extra minutes_ to reach the penthouse floor, Christian!" I feel my eyes build up with more tears, but in a reaction of total frustration and anger this time, my body shaking. "I refuse to stay here with you."

"You refuse to?"

"Yes, I _refuse_ to! So either you try contacting your brother again so that he can pass on the message to my mother, or I try leave."

He starts laughing breathlessly at my words. It's probably even more insulting than anything else he could have physically done to me. "What don't you understand, Anastasia?"

"Understand?" I repeat loudly.

"You were left here, _with me,"_ he explains seriously, his forehead creasing as he stares at me intently. "Your mother left you here with me, in my _care_. You were to be dropped off at the airport to stay here and, believe it or not, I take this extremely seriously, like _most_ things _._ If you think I'm just going to try contact Bob in order for him to pass the message onto your mother and then let you go off into the big bad world when you're supposed to be under my care, then-" He trails off, shaking his head, his mouth falling open.

"Well, anywhere is better than here with you, Christian," I say honestly, even if it does hurt him. "After last night, I don't want to be anywhere near you."

"And what do you think is the worst?" He reaches up, combing his fingers slowly through his hair. "Seattle's a large city, Anastasia. Perhaps larger than what you are used to. You think if you were out there, on the streets, wandering around at night that... someone wouldn't think twice to try something on a seventeen year old, defenseless girl like you? That... you wouldn't be raped, beaten, or have your belongings stolen by somebody?" His eyes search my face carefully, meaningfully. "You would really prefer enduring all of that, than being here? You would prefer that to having a nice... safe, warm house to come home to, dinner that's compassionately prepared for you from Gail?"

I get his point, but he's missing mine. He's implying that the only other option I have, other than staying here in his penthouse with him, is being stuck cold out on the rough streets of Seattle. But what about my mother? Won't she come home from her honeymoon once she finds out? I know she will. For me, I know she'd do that within a heartbeat.

"You're forgetting my mother," I point out. "You make it seem like I have no other options available, Christian, when I do. When my mother finds out, I bet she'll rush to the nearest airport wherever she is to come here to get me. It's not like I'd have nowhere else to go if I left today." Plus, I have some money that she gave me. That would last me for a few nights in a hotel, at least, until she's able to come from her flight.

"It's like I told you, Anastasia," he says, frustrated. "Bob's hard to reach due to the reception being poor wherever it is that they are. If you do want to leave that badly, then I'll keep trying to get in reach, but in the meantime... I'd prefer it if you stay here. Until I know your mother has gotten here to collect you, at the very least. The idea of you being out there, on the streets, unsafe, I'm not going to let you do that." He looks at me with that stern look again. "At the very least, I ask that you stay here until your mother makes the arrangement to come pick you up after I've been able to reach Robert. That way, I know that you are safe here."

I stare at him miserably. In some ways, I know he's right. It would be best to remain here, safe, sleeping at his penthouse until Mom can come and grab me. I still hate the idea of being stuck here with him now though, especially after what he did.

He must read it on my face, because he adds, "Last night, I was... completely out of line, Anastasia. And I get that. I was stressed out from work, then I was... stressed because I wasn't sure whether you would be here or whether you were lost or unsafe or not." He closes his eyes briefly and I can hear the regret deep in his voice, the anxiety. When he opens his eyes slowly, he reaches over to touch me again. His fingers stroke my arm gently, but his touch still deeply unsettles me. "This is just... the way I'm used to coping when I'm stressed. It... it offers me a relief, an outlet like you _cannot even begin_ to imagine."

 _This is the way he's used to coping when stressed? What? Abusing someone? Spanking them?_

"I was way out of line," he says strongly, yet I notice he still hasn't once even apologized properly to me. "I just wish you would have told either Taylor or Sawyer that you'd gone out, that you'd take care to be home at least a few minutes before nine-thirty, as arranged, then I wouldn't have had to do what I did."

It wasn't arranged. I hadn't arranged that stupid curfew with him at all. It was _all him_ , him enforcing it onto me.

"It certainly would have spared a lot of... anguish and hurt on your side, don't you think? If you'd come home earlier so I wouldn't have had to?" Again, its like he's blaming _me_ , _I'm_ at fault for this. He rubs his fingers down towards my wrist, stroking, patting. "But I'm only human, Anastasia, and, believe it or not, like everyone else, I make mistakes. I can't take back what happened, but... if you would stay here for a while until I can reach Bob so that I know you are safe? Just until I'm able to reach him, and until your mother comes to collect you?"

I hesitate. "How long will I have to wait though? How long will I have to stay here?"

"I suppose, however long it takes. However long it takes for Robert to get back to me so that I can explain the situation, that... that you wish to leave now, that you refuse to stay here."

"Okay," I agree quietly. I don't exactly want to go out onto the street either, and it's cheaper staying here, rather than using the money my Mom gave me to get a hotel until she comes back. It's the easiest, cheapest choice. "I'll stay just until she comes to get me, but... what you did to me last night, it won't _ever_ happen again in the meantime while I'm waiting for my mother here, Christian. Okay?"

The minute it does happen again, I'm out of here. I'm only giving him the benefit of the doubt. Like he said, he's human too. But I swear to God, if he does that again to me, I'm totally gone.

His eyes search my face for a moment, that captivating look to them. The corners of his lips turn up and then his gray eyes are alight with something, something strange. Relief maybe?

"Good girl," he murmurs, and how he says it, like I'm almost an animal doing a trick that their owner is pleased about, it turns my stomach.

Just like that, his touch, remembering what that same hand did to me last night that's now touching my arm, it disgusts me. That same hand that struck me, that spanked me, is touching my arm, my skin. I wrench my arm away, tucking it beneath the pillow. I know he's noticed why I did it. His eyes are watching me, judging my reaction, very carefully.

"Well, I better get Taylor to take me to work," he says, and that edge is still there to his voice. A happy, distinctively satisfied edge. "I'll try contact Bob again in the office. Did you have a good day yesterday?"

It's like he's trying to change the subject so I'll magically forget what he did last night. I don't think that will ever happen. I've definitely changed towards him now.

"Yes, it was good," I say shortly. I would have elaborated and been more chatty had he not done what he did last night. I would have been my usual, teasing self, but now... now it feels like that girl has disappeared from a few nights ago.

"Did you see what you wanted to see so far? The market?"

"Yes," I mutter, just as shortly. It's as much as I want to give him, as much as he's going to get out of me.

He nods once, and finally, he stands to his feet, getting away from the bed. "I'll see you later tonight then, Anastasia. Remember." He doesn't elaborate himself, but I have a feeling I know what he means. He's reminding me of his stupid curfew. So it still applies then, after after everything that's happened. I just hope he is able to contact his brother soon enough, but at least I have seeing my new friend as something to look forward to.

 **Hope you enjoyed. It will all be revealed soon, not sure what your thoughts will be though. Thank you, I'm not very confident at writing this but will update roughly 3 times a week if I can manage it. Also, to the guest reviewer, I'm sorry if you are offended by the content that you wish to report it. This story won't be for everyone, everyone's different but I'm sorry for offenses taken.**

 **To the guest reviewer who keeps being really mean and abusive, can you please kindly just go away? And your words about 'being driven to suicide', well, your comments are nasty and hurtful and you should really practice what you preach with all the horrible things you've written. Does it make you feel better, being so hateful? Really, some people must have to be really strong willed to write on here and I praise them, because I just don't know.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Temptation Builds- Chapter 8**

Once I know for certain that he has left the penthouse and has gone to work, I climb out of bed gingerly, being careful not to lean or sit on my backside too much in case it begins to hurt again.

I grab some fresh clothes for the day, then I head into the combined bathroom, taking my time stripping out of my jeans and underwear that I wasn't brave enough to step out of last night. I unbutton and then peel off my jeans, wincing as they scrape against my sore bottom. Taking my underwear off proves to be just as tricky, and I grimace as the fabric brushes against my skin.

Finally fully out of them, I brace myself for what I'll potentially see, finding strength to turn back to glance in the large mirror across from me.

To my relief, I find that where he spanked me, it isn't too bad. There isn't much of a bruise, just a slight discoloration around my buttocks. It's not nearly as bad as it feels. Taking off my shirt, I yank off the gorgeous beaded bracelet Kate gave me before I climb into the shower, switching on the water. The running water seems to lash at my tender backside, making it sting a little. Hopefully it won't hurt too much when I have to sit down today, but it isn't completely intolerable; the pain. I just hope it won't take him too long to contact his brother like he said he would, even if the reception is bad wherever it is he took my mother for their honeymoon.

He hadn't given me Bob's number, though I hadn't asked Christian directly for it. I wonder if I can find some sort of contact book in his study? Maybe in one of his desk drawers or something so that I can find Bob's number on my own? Surely, an important business man like Christian would keep records of all contacts and previous partners, wouldn't he?

My mind settled on my next method of action, I wash my hair quickly, then soap up my skin, groaning as the soap glides over my sore backside. Then once I feel clean enough, I hop out of the shower, grabbing a large white towel off the rack. Wiping myself clean proves to be tricky also; I end up only being able to pat around my bottom gently as not to aggravate its aching any more than it already is.

It takes me longer than usual to get changed into my clothes, particularly my denim shorts and my underwear. But after I manage, I hang the damp towel back up on the rack, combing out the long wet strands of my hair before sliding my bracelet back on while marching towards the room of his study.

Like before, it's left unlocked. I open it quietly, peering inside, just to make sure he truly is gone, I suppose. To my relief, there's no one there, sitting in his office chair. Hopefully I can find some address or contact book in here somewhere.

Biting my lip, I pad barefooted around his desk, pulling back his recliner chair. I help myself, sitting down on it carefully, though the cushioned leather doesn't feel cushioned enough. The instance my backside presses into the chair, I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, stifling down a moan of pain. It definitely doesn't feel too pleasant; Sitting down after what he did to me like a child. But I push the painful throbbing aside, focusing on my task.

I try the first drawer, wrapping my fingers around the little knob, yanking it open. To my relief, it's unlocked. I rummage inside curiously, just finding an empty stapler and office equipment.

Then I try the second drawer below it, and I seem to have better results fortunately. It's neatly stacked with a large pile of dossiers in blues, red, and yellows. No contact book with phone numbers as far as I can see so far. I pull the first one out, laying it on top of his desk carefully.

I know Christian would probably get mad, me snooping around. But he invaded my privacy last night, my own personal body space in doing what he did to me, didn't he? Now he can get a taste of what it's like to have someone else invade _him_.

I flip it open, pulling the documents out. All the blood seems to leave my face.

"Oh my God," I mutter in both shock and irritation.

It's a background check, but not just any background check. It isn't regarding his business partners or anything like that. No, it's one on me. There's even a little picture of me attached to the top of the file with a clip, a photo of me from my high school graduation photo as I smile cheerily. How did he get this photo of me?

I read through the information presented, unsure what to think or feel. It truly does say everything about me, from my date of birth, what hospital I was born in as a baby. My current house address back home with my Mom. My current phone number for my cell. My email address. Hell, even my grade level scores from school.

My Mom Carla's details, as well as details about my stepfather Ray. As I leaf through the other sheets attached, I see he even has photos of my mother and Ray; Photo copies of their drivers license and passport identification.

Why would he need all this information, not only about me, but Mom and Ray as well? Do they know about this- about his huge gross invasion of their privacy?

My curiosity heightened, as well as my outrage, I reach down, grabbing the next dossier beneath it. There's what seems to be a record of transaction between two bank accounts. The numbers on the bank account looks familiar for some reason; I think I've read them before. Opening the other dossier with all the background checks, I leaf through it, finding my Mom's bank account details.

I cross-reference both of them, realizing the numbers on the accounts match up.

Someone- probably Christian? - sent a transaction for twenty four thousand dollars to my mother. It went into her bank account, it was approved. What for? As a gift from Christian for my Mom and Bob's honeymoon? What would she possibly need such a large sum of money for, unless it is just a present from Christian, seeing as he said he made an extravagantly ludicrous large amount of money each hour?

It still doesn't explain why he bothered to do a background check on me and my Mom, as well as Ray. Why would he do that? Why would he need such personal information about me- or my Mom or Ray, for that matter? It's all so confusing.

Closing the dossiers back up, I try to place them back into his drawer how I find them. I shove the drawer closed, then reach down, starting on my search again for any address book of phone numbers. Bob's his brother. He'd have to have his number written down somewhere just in case he lost it and couldn't remember how to contact him, wouldn't he?

It's a hopeless cause. As it turns out, there isn't any address book in any of the drawers. Just files. I open one of the dossiers that he's stacked in the last bottom drawer, looking at the photo clipped to the corner of a dark-haired woman roughly a few years older than me. Leila Jayne Williams, it reads on her background check.

Why would he have so many background check files on various women? It's so strange. It just doesn't add up. Would these women know about this? Does this woman know he's snooping into her personal stuff?

Sighing loudly, defeated at finding Bob's number, I shut the folder, shoving it back into the last drawer. I turn in the chair, glancing towards his bookshelf at all the books carefully while toeing the last drawer shut, nudging it closed with my heels. Surely he must have an address book or something that he keeps contact details in, right? Especially seeing as he's in business?

I really want to contact Bob so that hopefully I can get through to my Mom. I know Christian assured me before he went off to work, that he would attempt to call him again at the office to let him know, but... for some reason, I just don't trust him. Particularly not after what he did to me last night. I don't feel like he is trustworthy at all, and I would prefer to actually talk to Bob and Mom myself.

Why the hell can't I find anything around here?

I hear a noise, like footsteps on the carpet outside the room, and I jump up, my heart pounding. Shit, please tell me it isn't him. Please tell me he isn't back from work early. Breathing shakily, I shove the chair back in beneath his desk, racing to the door. I dart out, dashing towards the room where I sleep. And then I see her, and we both yelp in fear at the same time. Oh, thank God. It's only Gail.

"Oh, Anastasia! I'm so sorry to startle you," she laughs unevenly, and she lifts a hand, clasping it over her chest. "It's just me again. Gail." I guess we both shook each other up equally.

Despite my mood, I laugh along with her nervously. "Wow, I'm sorry, too. I didn't realize you were here already!"

"I'm sorry, dear. I just thought I'd go around, checking to see if you have any dirty clothes that you'd like for me to wash?" She points to the pile of my dirty underwear and my jeans that I've messily left on the floor near the bed.

"Oh, no. You really don't have to do that. I really am happy doing my own washing."

"Please, I insist. It gives me something to do." I just let her, watching her with a thumping heart as she moves towards my clothes. She picks them up, shoving them into a hamper where she must collect all of the dirty clothes to wash in. "Would you like me to whiz you up some breakfast?" she asks me. "How does tofu scramble on wholemeal toast sound?"

My appetite is virtually non-existent right now, though I appreciate how nice she is. "Oh, thank you, but I'm fine, really," I murmur breathlessly, still trying to get over the shock of her appearing. "I'm not hungry at the moment." I wonder if she'll know where Christian keeps his address book? It wouldn't hurt to ask, would it? "Um, actually, I was wondering if you knew where Christian kept his book of phone numbers? I'm just trying to find it so that I could perhaps try ringing his brother to get through to my Mom?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, dear. Mr Grey doesn't usually tell me anything like that." She gives me a sincerely apologetic smile. "Usually, I'm just here to cook and clean. I'm not sure where he'd put anything like that."

Damn. It was worth a try though. "Oh, well, that's fine," I mutter with a forced smile. "I just really wish I could find Bob's number so I can call my mother."

"I know it must be hard. I'm sorry, dear."

I watch as she leaves my room with a sympathetic smile, feeling frustrated. Great, so if even she doesn't know where he keeps his list of contacts in a book, then where else am I supposed to look? How can I find Bob's number then?

I move around the bed, grabbing my phone. I don't even know why I check it, but I suppose it's a habit. Not exactly to my surprise, there still hasn't been any response from my mother. God, why isn't she calling me back or responding to my texts? It is so unusual for her.

Trying not to stress to much, I brush out my long hair again, trying to keep busy. Then I put on my shoes, and grab my map, hoping to find the market again easily so that I can meet up with Kate. At least I have a new friend to distract me, although I'm not sure I would go so far as to discuss what happened with Christian spanking me to her. Somehow, I want to keep that private, to myself. It was degrading enough as it was.

* * *

I get to the market just after eleven thirty in the morning, locating Kate behind her stall. She waves and beams happily once she sees me, and just like that, all my stress and nerves seem to leave me at the sight of her. It's so awesome to have someone to spend my time with, and Kate, she's so nice, so friendly.

"Hey girl," she calls happily, flicking strands of her wavy blonde hair away from her face. "How are you?"

"I'm good," I say, though it isn't completely a lie. I feel so much better now that I'm in her company and I found where the market was again. At least I didn't get lost. "How are you?"

"Pretty good. It's been a slow morning, so I reckon we'll pack up in about fifteen minutes for the day. Want to meet some of my friends?"

"Sure," I agree happily. "That would be great."

I stand around nervously near the stall, playing with the little blue beaded bracelet she got me absently while she serves a customer. She's right; It doesn't seem as busy in the market as it had the day before. I notice the guy that works with Kate, how they speak and interact easily. He looks familiar to her somehow, though a bit older, with blonde hair and green eyes. He's slim and tall, sort of cute looking.

For a moment there, I wonder if him and Kate have hooked up at one stage or something, because they seem close and really friendly. I see Kate jerk her chin towards me and he looks at me from where I'm waiting, saying something back to her. Hopefully they are saying nice things about me.

"Okay, I'm heading off now," I hear Kate tell him loudly, and she grabs her frilly leather bag, exiting the stall.

"Who was that?" I ask curiously, glancing back towards the guy who seems to be packing up all the homemade jewelry. "That guy that works with you? Is he a close friend?"

Kate laughs as she glances back at him as well. "Um, no. That's Ethan, and he's the hugest dork. He wouldn't be your type, trust me."

I laugh nervously, feeling myself flush. "I really didn't mean it like that, Kate!"

"Sure, you didn't," she mutters, arching her brows at me in disbelief. "Anyway, he's my older brother. He's really weird."

"Oh?" My voice quivers in shock as an embarrassed laugh escapes me. "He's your brother?" Great, I've been caught ogling her brother.

"Yeah, unfortunately he is," she laughs. "We work at the stall together pretty much every day. He's single, too." She gives me an odd look as she mentions the last part, the fact that he's single.

"I was just curious about who he was, that's all," I mutter quickly. "I really didn't mean anything by it."

"It's cool. I get that a lot from girls anyway. So many girls have asked me about him, but they don't seem to take me seriously when I explain how dorky he is." She reaches into her bag, finding her phone. "I have a couple of guy friends meeting us. Is that cool?"

"Sure, of course."

"I'd like you to meet one of my closest friends anyway. His name is Jose. He's really cool."

"Okay." I follow her nervously as we walk out of the marketplace, falling into casual, easy conversation. Then she nudges me, pointing out a guy that looks about our age as he stands around, looking everywhere, waiting for someone. "That's him," she explains, and as he finally notices Kate and me, he breaks out into a huge grin while Kate returns the smile.

He laughs as he meets her, and they hug. He's wearing a black jacket, white shirt and jeans. Black haired, brown eyed, with stubble around his chin. He's rather good-looking, especially when he meets my gaze around Kate's shoulder with a smile. He's pretty hot, all tanned skin and muscular build.

"Jose, this is my new friend Ana," Kate says, introducing us once they separate from their hug. "She just basically moved here to Seattle. We met yesterday."

"Hi," I say, smiling nervously. "Nice to meet you."

"You too," Jose says, and his smile widens as he reaches out, shaking my hand. His smile is bright as he flashes white straight teeth at me. He seems to have this same thing about him that Kate does, ever since I met her yesterday; Instantly, I seem to feel comfortable around him, too. "Cool. So you just moved here then?" he asks with interest once we stop shaking hands.

"I did, pretty much. My Mom left me here so that she can go on honeymoon with her new husband."

"How are you finding it here?"

"Yeah, it's pretty... great. Different from what I'm used to."

We all start walking together, and I notice Jose keeps asking me a lot of questions. I find it hard to keep up, because he seems so interested in knowing all about me, so rapid with his questions. Kate reaches over, sliding her arm through mine as we walk, so we're hooked together.

"Jose is an aspiring photographer," Kate informs me once she can finally get a word in. "Aren't you, Jose?"

I scrutinize him with added interest. "You are? That's so awesome?"

"I'm not that good," he says dismissively with a shrug. "I'm still learning."

"He _is_ that good," Kate disagrees over him. "He's just trying to be modest. He has a really good eye for capturing moments in life. You'll have to show her some of your photos, huh?"

I notice he avoids my gaze as he shrugs again, his cheeks reddening slightly. "Maybe."

"I'd definitely be interested in seeing them," I murmur. "By the sounds of it and how Kate describes it, it sounds like you're really good."

"I hope to be. I hope to break out into the professional scene, but so far, I haven't had much luck."

I glance across the street as we walk, feeling Jose watching me intently, staring at me. My steps falter as I think I see someone familiar across the road. Is that maybe Sawyer, the security person Christian advised me to inform of before I head out of his penthouse? It definitely looks like him, and I think I'd know if it wasn't him.

I feel my stomach knot in unease as he seems to watch the three of us carefully as we walk together across from him. Is he spying on me? Watching my every move? Somehow, I get the suspicion that he is. I wonder why.

"You okay?" Kate's concerned voice brings me out of my gawking at the man across the street.

I look away from the man across the street hastily, finding Kate's eyes on me curiously. "Um, yeah," I mutter quickly. "I'm fine, of course."

"Let's get a coffee," she suggests eagerly. She steers me with our hooked arms towards a coffee shop, her close friend Jose trying to start another conversation with me again.

As we head towards the door and Kate holds it open, I glance out towards the guy that looks remarkably like Sawyer again before following her in. He's still watching us, only he's holding what looks like a phone up to his ear. Who is he talking to? Christian? Is he telling Christian who I'm spending time with?

I shake my head, trying to clear my suspicious thoughts as I focus on ordering a coffee with Kate and Jose. I can't imagine Christian ordering someone like Sawyer or that Jason Taylor to follow me around, even. Because what good reason would he have for even doing that? Then again, he did have a background check on me, that folder he had of me in his study, didn't he?

"It's all on me, ladies," Joke speaks up as we approach the young woman behind the register. Kate and I both protest at the same time, but he's insistent. "I mean it," he laughs. "I'm buying for both of you and that's final. Alright? It's only coffee, after all."

We make our orders- me, a latte with soy milk- then Kate guides me to an empty table while Jose pays with his credit card.

"He totally likes you," she whispers secretively in my ear. I shrug off her words with a nervous laugh as we squeeze into a long booth at a table. I hesitate before sitting beside her, my backside hurting at the merest contact with the cushioned vinyl seat. "He usually doesn't talk so non-stop. I can always tell whenever he likes someone, because he becomes particularly chatty around them." We both turn, glancing at Jose while he waits to get our coffees once their done. I notice he'll keep turning around to glance at us both, to make sure we're still in the coffee shop, I guess. "What do you think of him?"

"Um, he's very... cute," I manage awkwardly, feeling myself flush.

"Oh, yeah? So you think he's cute?" She nudges her shoulder into mine. "Would you ever consider dating him?"

Her question takes me by surprise. "I don't know," I admit cautiously. "I'm really not even thinking of that right now, to be honest. I don't even know if I'm wanting a boyfriend at the moment. Friends are good enough for me right now."

Cute and nice as Jose might be, I'm too focused on finally hearing something back from my Mom and also, my living situation at the moment. I wouldn't want to consider dating someone, especially seeing as it won't be a long-term thing, in me staying here in Seattle.

"Besides, I'm only staying here short-term probably," I add under my breath. "Just until my Mom and her new husband returns from their honeymoon. I wouldn't want to commit to anything right now or even start anything."

"Of course, that totally makes sense."

Jose meets us at the table, struggling with three cups of coffee. I smile at him thankfully as he passes me mine with the soy milk instead of regular milk. He slips in to sit next to me, his shoulder brushing against mine. I try to glance past him, back through the window, wondering if Sawyer is still out there. As far as I can see, he isn't though. Maybe I'm just seeing things and it wasn't even that Sawyer guy at all? Hopefully not.

"Looks like it's going to rain soon, doesn't it?" Jose says conversationally, and I meet his gaze. He must have misread my reasons for looking out of the window completely, but he is right. Ever since I left this morning, the sky had looked cloudy and not as sunny as it was yesterday.

I give him a tight-lipped smile while reaching for my cup. "Yeah, it does. I thought it was going to rain when I headed out this morning."

"I think it said it was going to on the weather forecast," Kate speaks up sadly, joining our conversation. "It sucks."

"What are you doing on the weekend?" Jose asks me.

"Um, I have no plans as yet. Why?"

"Kate and I were hanging out again."

"Yeah, we are," Kate pipes up. "You should totally come meet us again too."

"Okay." I smile at them both happily. "That would be great."

After we chat some more and finish our coffees, Jose asks for my number. We end up exchanging them, saving each of our numbers into our phones. Then as we exit the coffee shop, Kate hugs me before we go our separate ways. My phone tells me it's five in the evening already; Time had seemed to go so quickly while being with Kate and her friend Jose.

I cross the street, walking hastily. During our time in the coffee shop, the air seems to have gotten colder, more frigid. I didn't think of bringing a jacket; I'm just wearing a baggy sleeveless band T-shirt and my denim shorts, which makes it feel even colder.

I feel goosebumps lift on my legs, shivering as I pick up my pace, walking even quicker to get back to Christian's place. I peer up at the sky, at how dark and gloomy the clouds look. Minutes later, just my luck, the rain starts to come. It starts with a light shower of rain, and I grumble under my breath at my stupidity for not thinking of wearing something more weather-appropriate this morning.

I think I hear someone call my name, but I keep walking, determined to reach my destination before the weather gets even worse, keeping my head down as I squint through the drops of rain. Already, I feel completely soaked. My hair is sopping wet, dark strands hanging limply over my face.

I reach a set of lights and I stop, covering my arms over my chest, waiting for the light to turn green to walk. I catch out of the corner of my eye someone stand next to me, waiting for the light to turn too, and they shuffle closer, holding an umbrella over me. I go to smile at the person gratefully, but my muscles seem to freeze as I meet their gaze.

Oh, great. It's _him_. Christian. It must have been him calling for me. I thought he was still at work?

"You didn't hear me?" he asks me, standing closer, shielding us both from the peltering rain. "I was calling out to you from the car with Taylor, but when you kept walking, I had to grab the umbrella and come out to walk with you. Why didn't you hear me?"

My mouth seems to go dry as I look him over, dressed neatly in his suit and tie still. His breaths come out in misty fog from the cold air. Why didn't I hear him?

"I didn't realize that it was you calling for me," I mutter, a stiff edge to my voice. "I just thought I was hearing things somehow. What are you doing out here anyway?"

"I finished work early."

The lights finally turn, indicating that its safe for pedestrians to walk, and we start moving, Christian's shoulder rubbing against mine as he walks with me. He leans closer, holding the umbrella completely over us.

"Were you able to contact him?" I ask hopefully, my own breaths coming out misty as well. I glance over at Christian quickly, finding him staring at me with confusion in his gray eyes. "Bob? Were you able to get through to Bob, Christian? You said you'd try calling him again once you got to work?"

"Oh, that." The way he says it, it's like he forgot about Bob and what he said. How can he forget us even speaking about that this morning? It irritates me. "I tried to reach him at work in the office, but... unfortunately I had the same result as before."

"Which is?"

"I couldn't get through to him, Anastasia," he says softly, apologetically. A troubled look comes across his face. "He wouldn't answer. Him and your mother are probably too busy to answer their phones."

It doesn't make sense at all to me. Something just doesn't sit right. I know my mother can sometimes get busy, but she isn't forgetful. She would never deliberately not return my phone calls or messages. "Can you give me his number then?" I demand. "Can you give me Bob's number so that I can try reaching him myself?"

My insides twist in discomfort when I feel Christian lift his arm, pressing his hand against my back as we walk, rushing forward to get out of the rain. His warm hand and fingers radiate heat through the thin fabric of my shirt.

"Are you hungry?" he asks, and I shiver, both at how freezing it is and how it feels when I feel him stroking my back gently through my shirt with his fingers, as if he's soothing me, comforting me. He hasn't answered my question though. Will he give me Bob's number or not? I think I have a right to try calling him myself. "I thought, instead of Gail cooking for us tonight, that we could have dinner at a restaurant instead?" I cannot believe he thinks I'd be willing to have dinner with him, particularly after what he did to me last night. "I booked us a reservation at a place that I know you'll like. We can go straight there now, if you'd like?"

Annoyance spreads through me at his avoidance to answer. "I don't care for food and eating right now. You didn't answer me. So, can I?" I ask bitterly. "Can I have his number, Christian? I think I have a right to have his number so that I can try contacting him too, seeing as it's hard to reach through to my Mom?"

"Let's just get to the restaurant first and get settled in so that you are warm, and then we can talk about all of that inside, Anastasia." He stops suddenly and I halter beside him, glancing up at him questioningly as he gestures for me to hold the umbrella for a moment. I get what he's doing next, when Christian begins unbuttoning his jacket. He shrugs out of it, then holds it out towards me, a pleading look on his face. "Here. Put this on," he says quietly, something there in his voice. "Your freezing. I won't have you catching a cold."

Despite how much I feel I loathe him due to what he did, violating me, I surrender. I turn around, sliding my arms through the sleeves of his jacket, sighing in relief at the immediate warmth. It's too big for me, the sleeves swallowing my hands, but it's definitely warmer wearing it.

"Next time, you bring a jacket along with you in case, sunshine, rain, or hail. Do you understand?" I turn back to look at him as he snatches the umbrella out of my grip, holding it up above over our heads again. Now _he's_ the one shivering in just his dress shirt.

"I didn't realize it was meant to rain today," I mutter defensively. "It's not my fault-"

"-Still, you bring a jacket with you regardless," he butts over me, making me somehow feel like a naughty child. Is that what he thinks I am? Some child he can order around and spank? "I'm not even going to begin commenting _on those_." He glances briefly down at my shorts, and I catch him shake his head in dismay as we start walking again. "Let's just hurry and get into the restaurant."

I open my mouth, about to argue against it, to tell him that I'm not hungry and that I want Bob's number right now, but I shut up when he moves his hand from my back. He grabs onto my forearm instead, grasping tight with his fingers so that now he isn't so much as guiding me along, as he is dragging me, physically forcing me to follow him to the restaurant where we'll be safely covered away from the rain. I have no choice.

 ** _Thank you so much for your supportive words. I was a bit frightened to continue writing the story but will try anyway, as I'm very 'into writing it' and hope to bring it to its conclusion, not only for me, but for those that want to know what's happening in it. I hope you enjoyed this one. Answers will be revealed next chapter, I've decided, as some of you have indicated its going too slow :) I understand this won't be a very nice story where I intend to go with it as far as certain things, but hope it will still be enjoyable nevertheless._**


	9. Chapter 9

**Temptation Builds- Chapter nine**

"I want Bob's number, Christian," I try again nervously as he leads me into a restaurant.

He lets go of my arm finally, only to hold the door open for me. We step inside, into the warmth of the restaurant, finally free from the rain. Once I'm in, he closes the door, yanking down the umbrella. Water drips on the floor, and despite him giving me his jacket, I find I'm still shivering. I wrap my arms over my chest as I stare up at his face desperately. He seems keen on avoiding my gaze.

"Why won't you just give me Bob's number so that I can try reach my mother through him? I think I have a right to that, don't I?"

"Good evening," a woman says politely behind reception, interrupting us. "How may I help you? Do you have a reservation for dinner?"

"Yes, good evening." Christian gives the woman a polite smile, though there's anxiety gleaming in his eyes. "I booked in a reservation earlier today? For two under the name Grey?"

The woman runs a finger down her log book. "Ah, yes. Here it is. Table nine." Christian hands her the umbrella and she tucks it away beneath her desk. "This way, please, if you both will follow me."

She steps out from her desk and Christian gestures for me to follow her, though he still doesn't look at my face. Reluctantly, I follow the woman as she leads us to a private area. The restaurant is fairly crowded already, with people seated down for dinner.

Light orchestral music plays in the background amid chatter. We end up at an already prepared table near a couple with a baby in one of the baby-seats they must offer. I hear the baby babbling in the chair as I pull back my seat, sitting, still swamped beneath the heavy fabric of his suit jacket. My backside gives off a dull thrum as I sit carefully- all thanks to what he did to me like a little girl. My hair still feels damp, and I feel beads of rainwater roll down my chin as I sit, combing my fingers through the wet strands so that they're away from my face before tucking the long sleeves up so my hands are properly visible.

"Here is tonight's menu," the woman says, and she places two on the table for us. "I'll return shortly once you've decided on what to order," she adds before leaving us to it.

I'm really not hungry. I'm more frustrated than anything. I just want him to give me Bob's number so I can try calling him myself. Why won't he give me that?

"Well, this is nice," I hear Christian breathe as he pulls back his own chair, and he sits opposite me. "It's much warmer in here than outside, isn't it?" I peer over at him, my mouth dry with a hard lump at the back of my throat as he leans down, scanning his menu, a forefinger tapping the writing on it repetitively. His hair is damp and darker, wet from the rain himself. There are splotches of raindrops decorating his shirt. "At least we're safely covered from the rain for the time being." Finally, he lifts his gaze, meeting mine. I may be mistaken, but I think he's nervous. His throat muscles knot together as he swallows. "What do you feel like?"

Bob's number, I want to say, but instead, I lean down, intent on reading the menu myself. There's entree, mains, and dessert. Do they even have vegan options here?

"There's a little symbol on the side," Christian says, reading my inner question disturbingly. "Those are the vegan and vegetarian options. I took it upon myself when I made the reservation to check and make sure that they have plenty of vegan options available for you."

It's like he wants me to express my gratitude over him doing that, like he wants me to be pleased. I do and say nothing, simply focusing on the little green carrot symbols that mean vegan and vegetarian on the menu. The only thing I really like the sound of is the mushroom stroganoff, which says its vegan. As for dessert, I find out there is a chocolate cheesecake, made with tofu, that sounds interesting too. I don't know why he insisted on us having dinner together, though. Like I would even want to with him.

I gaze up at him quickly through my eyelashes again. I find him already watching me, observing me, though I don't know why.

"Anything you like?" he asks.

"The mushroom stroganoff sounds great. So does the chocolate cheesecake made with the tofu."

Something lights up in his gray eyes as he presses his lips together in response. "So dinner _and_ dessert. Very good." Why do I get the weird feeling that he is praising me? He looks away from me, straightening in his chair. I realize the woman has returned to get our orders. "Yes, we're ready to order now," Christian says, answering her silent question. "Anastasia will have the mushroom stroganoff for dinner, then the vegan chocolate cheesecake for dessert." He grabs my menu, placing it over his, handing it to her. "And I'll have the same."

He'll have the same? My eyebrows dart out in surprise. Why wouldn't he just get something non-vegan, seeing as he doesn't eat that way normally? Why copy me? It isn't like I'd get offended if he dared to eat meat in front of me.

"Excellent," the woman says happily. "Is there anything else I can get you both while you wait? A drink? Water perhaps?"

Christian arches his eyebrows at me in question.

"Water will be fine," I murmur.

"Great. I'll be right back with water and some glasses." She leaves again.

"You didn't have to do that, you know" I mutter.

His face clouds with confusion. "Do what, Anastasia? What didn't I have to do?"

"Just because I'm vegan, it doesn't mean I'll get offended if you don't eat vegan, too. I'm not one of those people that judges others because they eat meat in front of me."

"I know that. I already gathered that you aren't the sort of person that judges another due to that." He rests both elbows on the table, clasping his hands together out in front of him. Those hands. My stomach clenches in both unease and simmering anger as I remember those hands being the sole reason my bottom is sore and tender when I sit the way it is now. "I just thought I'd try it your way." He says it so cryptically, so mysteriously. I wonder why. Is he trying to soften some sort of blow? He thinks it'll make it easier for me?

The woman appears, setting out glasses on the table, as well as a large jug of water.

"Enjoy," she says. "Your food will be with you very shortly."

Neither of us say thank you as she leaves again. I reach out, busying myself in pouring myself a glass of water. When I peek up at him, I see he's watching me again while holding his clasped hands to his chin. Why stare? Why is he observing me so much?

"How are you settling in?" he asks gently after a moment where I simply stare back at him, pursing my lips over my glass. I sip some water in, swallowing down the chilled water.

"Just fine," I murmur shortly, an uncontrollable stiff edge there. Just like this morning, I find myself not wanting to give away too much, to talk to him too much. I'm still pissed off over what he did to me, his abuse, the way he treated me in spanking me. I don't think I'll ever stop being angry. I just want my Mom to come get me already.

"Have you made any new... friends while here?" he asks, and there's a strange tone to his voice.

It's like he is attempting to wheedle out more information from under me. I remember that Sawyer guy today, how he watched me hang out with Kate and her guy friend, Jose. I'm positive it _was_ Sawyer that I saw. Had he filled Christian in? Is Christian having me watched by Sawyer, his security guy?

I shrug, eyeing him. "Maybe, I have," I say, my voice curt.

Christian sighs loudly through his mouth, and he uncurls his hands. I watch as he reaches up, combing his fingers through his hair, frustration glistening in his eyes. I'm annoying him. "Anastasia, if you haven't noticed, I'm attempting to extend the olive branch here, so to speak," he mutters, letting his irritation show. "Extending the olive branch means that I-"

"-I know what the term means already," I butt over him brusquely, holding the glass to my lips with both hands. "I may be younger than you, but I know what 'extending the olive branch' means, Christian." I pause, sipping another mouthful of water. "It means that you are trying to make it up to me for what happened, that your... trying to get me to forgive you by doing this. Believe it or not, I'm not stupid."

"I wasn't trying to imply that I _did_ think you were stupid, Anastasia. I know that you are far from it."

"Good, because I like to think that I'm not stupid. I may be younger, but it doesn't mean I'm stupid."

He nods once, intertwining his long fingers together again, holding them beneath his chin. His eyes bore into mine, something regretful and soft in them. "I know that things got... way out of hand, these past few days. I'm trying here to make amends."

"Why?" I mutter doubtfully. "Why does it matter to you so much, Christian?"

"Because I want you to like it here. I know that you told me how you wanted to leave, that you don't want to stay any longer, but... I want you to learn to like it here." He shrugs, his gaze earnest. "I want you to... like me."

"You _want_ me to like you?" I repeat, bewildered. Why the hell would he care so much? "But you told me a few days ago after Gail made dinner that you don't care to be liked and that you aren't like most people, that you don't care about that?"

"Well, it's... different with you."

"Why?" I demand in confusion. "Why does it concern you so much, whether _I_ like you or not? I mean, I'm just a seventeen year old girl staying here until my Mom returns from her honeymoon, right?"

He doesn't answer; Instead, he reaches out, filling a glass up with chilled water for himself. I feel like it's a gesture to avoid answering my question, almost. Why would he care so much whether I like him?

I think back to how his security guard was definitely keeping watch on me. I'm not sure whether he'll confess to it or not, but I decide to take my chances. "Your having someone keeping watch over me, aren't you?"

Christian swallows down his mouthful of water, lifting his gaze to meet mine. "What makes you say that?"

"Because I could have sworn I saw that security guy that you introduced me to watching me today from across the street," I explain bluntly, scrutinizing his face carefully while I say it. I'm sort of hoping for any telling reaction, only he doesn't give much away. His expression is completely composed, watchful on me. "That Sawyer guy that you initially told me to report to whenever I leave your house? Are you having him watch over me now?"

Christian sets down his glass, his eyes holding mine intently. He brings up his hand, rubbing his fingers around his chin. "And what if I am?" he asks softly, cautiously. "What if I am having Sawyer patrolling your every whereabouts?" He hasn't exactly confirmed it.

"Why would you?" I demand. "Why would you need to invade my privacy like that by having your security guy monitor everything that I do?"

"Well, it was either that or you doing what I requested of you in the first-place, which was to report to either Sawyer or Jason Taylor whenever you intended to go out for the day." His voice hardens with a distinctive scolding edge. "You disobeyed that rule when you went out without so much as even reporting to either Sawyer or Taylor first, so I had to... take matters into my own hands." There, that confirms my suspicions then. He _did_ have Sawyer trace me, spy on me. How dare he do that to me!

"Right, and let me guess," I begin, spluttering the words out, "It was also you that Sawyer was speaking to on the phone when I saw him talking to someone? He was reporting back to you what I was doing and with whom?"

"Yes, that's right," Christian confesses, and it really craps me, the nerve he has to sound so unapologetic and as if he hasn't done anything wrong by doing that. "Sawyer called me with a few updates. He informed me that you went out for coffee, that you'd met up with a male and female, both around your age. Who were they?"

"Who they are, is none of your business, Christian," I spit out. "You really had no right to do that, in having someone spy on me, constantly checking in on me!"

"Well, I beg to differ on that," he argues lightly. " _I_ have every right. I need to know that you're safe."

"Safe? And why wouldn't I ever be safe, Christian?"

"Sawyer is highly trained and experienced, in both hand-to-hand combat as well as weaponry. It helps to have him there, it helps to know that you are well... protected."

"Well protected?" The way he says it, you'd think I'm in serious, life-threatening danger or something. "Well protected from what, Christian? What would I ever need to be protected from in the first-place that would warrant someone like Sawyer watching over me? Are you telling me that I'm in some sort of danger or something?" My head whirls at all the numerous questions forming inside my head at his comment. "Does that have something to do with my Mom? Is that why she isn't responding to my calls or why she didn't tell me where Bob was taking her? It's because she's in danger and now, I am, too?" My head is full of so many various scenarios, ones more like out of a spy action film.

To my frustration, our dinner is ready. A male waiter approaches our table, serving us our plates. The mushroom stroganoff looks and smells delicious and, though I never thought I was actually hungry, it turns out I am. My mouth waters at the hearty sight of the pasta, the mushrooms and the sauce. I grab my fork, spearing through a mushroom as I glance his way again. He has started eating himself, which is aggravating. I want to know more about what he is saying.

"Is my mother in trouble?" I ask through the silence nervously while I watch him chew. "Is that why she's been unable to respond to my calls?"

He sighs loudly as he reaches for his napkin. I wait eagerly while he pushes it through his collar, doing what he does in all the times I've eaten with him, tucking his napkin in so he doesn't spill anything on his shirt. "I wasn't supposed to tell you too much," he finally answers, his voice tight. "But there _is_ someone out there. It's why I need to be told where you are at all times. It's... why I need you to be safe and protected, Anastasia." He won't meet my gaze as he forks his pasta around on his plate.

I feel like I cannot breathe as I stare at him, his words sinking in. My Mom's in danger? _I'm_ in danger?

"So someone's out there?" I breathe nervously. "Someone's out there, and they want to hurt me?" It doesn't really make too much sense. Well, it does make sense, why he would feel the need to have Sawyer there to protect me then. But who would possibly be out there wanting to harm me? Why? As far as I know, I've done nothing horrible to anybody and neither has my Mom. Or have we? "Who? Who's this person that is a danger to me? And why wouldn't my Mom bother telling me before she left?"

"I can't truly say, Anastasia," he mutters, exasperation in his voice. "But that's why she wanted you to come stay with me. She knew that you would be... safer and more protected, if you had."

I startle when I hear a shrilling cry and I glance behind my shoulder at the sudden noise fearfully. I almost laugh at my own stupidity when I see it's just that baby at the table near us, crying. The mother is cooing, picking the baby up out of the seat. It's just a baby crying, that's all.

"I'm not the enemy, you see," Christian continues when I glance back at him, cupping a hand near my chest, breathing deeply, trying to get over my fright and sudden jumpiness. "It's why you need to follow my rules, about the curfew, and about telling either Taylor or Sawyer where you'll be, who you intend to meet, such as that boy and girl you saw at the coffee shop today. I know you think the rules are ridiculous, but they're simply in place for your safety and protection."

I shovel a forkful of pasta and mushroom into my mouth, thinking his words through carefully. I suppose it all makes sense, but there are still certain things I can't understand. Like why my Mom is being so distant with me. Is she even still on her actual real honeymoon with Bob? Or is that all fake?

"When I did to you, what I did," he begins, and I know he's referring to his spanking incident, "While I understand my actions were way out of line, I only did it because I panicked. I thought that... something may have happened to you, and that's why I did what I did. If anything happened to you, all because you didn't take my rules seriously when you are under my care..." He stops, shuddering visibly at the thought. His concern is somewhat touching and I can't pretend it isn't. "I did it simply because I was... scared. That doesn't make it any less bad, what I did, but... the intentions behind it weren't in anyway malicious."

What? He's saying he simply spanked me because he was scared something bad happened to me because I was late by all of seven minutes from his curfew?

"Your mother put her trust into me to keep you safe," he continues gravely. "She sent you to me because she knew I had the most... resources in place to ensure that you are safe and well protected."

"I thought you hadn't met my Mom before?" I point out in confusion, shaking my head. He said he hadn't met her, that his adopted older brother Bob hadn't introduced her to him. So which is it? "I thought you said that-"

"-Bob," he corrects quickly. "I meant Bob. Robert trusted me enough to suggest placing you in my care." My stomach is in knots as I force myself to eat more of my food, knowing I'll be hungry later if I don't. This is a lot to take in. Half of it, I'm not sure what to believe. There are certain things that don't make much sense to me, despite how... truthful and sincere he seems to be. "Like I said, I'm not the enemy here, Anastasia. I can tell you're mad at me after what I did to you, that you hold a certain sense of... anger and resentment towards me, but you should try to let it go."

How can I let it go though? He invaded me, abused me like a child getting scolded by their parent? How can I learn to let that go?

"Otherwise, this can't... work. I can't keep you safe or protected if you don't learn how to trust me. I meant what I said, before. Though I don't usually truly care whether people tend to like me or not, it's... _different_ with you." I peer up at him doubtfully while chewing, finding his gaze on mine, something there in his eyes. He inspects my face carefully, his expression resembling- what? Pleading? Desperation for my understanding? Sometimes he can be so hard to work out. "I want you to learn how to both like me and trust me. It'll make this whole entire thing... easier if you could."

Make what easier? Him being able to protect me? Why would it matter so much? Why would I have to like him?

"I know how you said you wanted to leave, that you didn't want to stay with me any longer?"

"Yes, and I still do," I murmur sincerely. Nothing has changed. I would be happy if my mother came and picked me up as soon as possible, cutting short her honeymoon with Bob, even if they are still actually doing that and it hasn't been a lie.

We eat the rest of our dinner in silence, my mind so busy and overfilled with thoughts. But if he is right, I hope my Mom's okay. But it doesn't explain why she's gone distant and unresponsive whenever I try to call her.

Once our plates are cleared, dessert arrives shortly five minutes later. It looks delicious, and you can't even really tell that it's a vegan version of a slice of chocolate cheesecake. I grab my fork, dragging it through it while I watch Christian do the same. He pops a spoonful into his mouth, and his eyes light up at me.

"This tastes like normal cheesecake," he mutters in surprise. "You wouldn't even begin to know it's vegan."

"Vegan food isn't that bad," I murmur, still a bit shortly. I know he wants me to trust him, but trust can't be given. It has to be earned, and after he spanked me, hurting my bottom... I'm not so sure I'll be able to trust him easily.

Nervously, I shove another bit of cheesecake into my mouth while glancing around the restaurant. Now that he's admitted to me being in some sort of danger, I feel a bit paranoid and on edge. I wonder what this danger is and who is after me.

Wouldn't it be better if I knew just exactly who it was that I need to look out for? Shouldn't he tell me what the danger is so that I know? I wonder what danger is out there for me. Does someone want to kill me or my mother? Do they want to murder me or do something terrible to me? Rape me, even? Attack me? My eyes fall on the baby again that the mother is nursing at the table next to us. What would this person even look like? Is it a man or a woman?

Flitting my eyes over to Christian again, I see he's glancing down at his wrist watch. "I'll have Taylor pick us up in the car after dessert is done so that we aren't caught in the rain again," he explains decisively, looking up to meet my gaze. "After all, we can't have you catching a cold."

We? Who is we?

Once I've managed to polish off most of my vegan cheesecake, Christian reaches into his trouser pocket, finding his phone. He pushes a button, holding it to his ear while he stares at me. Why he feels the need to stare, I'm not sure. But I deliberately look away, glancing around the room again at all the people. "Taylor, how's it looking?" There's a pause where Jason Taylor must reply. "It's still raining? I assumed as much. Can you meet us outside?"

Without another word, he slams his phone shut, then lifts a hand, gesturing with his fingers for the bill. He hands the woman his credit card, then stands as she goes off to pay the bill. I stand too, still wrapped up in his large jacket.

"Taylor should be outside now. Let's go." He steps forward, reaching out to place his hand on my back, guiding me towards the entrance. I still feel weird about him touching me despite everything he's explained tonight, so I shrug his hand off, picking up my pace so he can't touch me anymore. He retrieves his card and his umbrella on the way out.

Out on the street, the pavement is damp, rain still falling from the sky. Christian points out Taylor's car, and he quickly strides towards it, opening the backseat for me. I rush over, trembling as drops of rain lash against my face, climbing into the backseat briskly. Then he sits in beside me, shutting the door.

The heating must be on in the car because, warm and full, I start to feel content and sleepy. It always seems to happen to me whenever I'm pleasantly full and warm; a lethargic sleepiness. I feel my eyelids begin to grow heavy as Jason Taylor drives us back to Christian's penthouse where I'm staying, my head resting comfortably against the back of the leather headrest. Breathing deeply through my nose, I close my eyes shut for a moment, letting my head loll back at the peaceful silence in the car.

I must have managed to doze off, because when I'm suddenly shaken back into a dopey alertness, it's when I hear the faint whirring noise of the elevator doors opening. Peeking through grainy, heavy eyelids, it occurs to me that someone must be carrying me. Someone must have carried me out from the car, with not wanting to wake me up, because I realize I'm in someone's arms as they hoist me around the penthouse through the dark foyer.

My head falls to the side as the person starts stepping up the stairs carefully, and I close my eyes for a moment, only to be swept awake again when I feel my body hit something soft and cushioned. I can barely manage to properly open my eyes, I'm that tired, but I think I see Christian standing next to me where I lay sprawled out on the bed.

Somehow, my sleep-ridden brain has acknowledged that he has carried me out of the car, up into the bedroom I am staying in. He's dropped me on the bed, and my eyes drift closed again when I think I feel him undo the button on my denim shorts. I feel the pressure of him yanking off each of my shoes, then him peeling off each of my socks, making my feet bare.

My throat tightens when I feel him sliding down my denim shorts, down past my knees, my ankles. For a moment there, though half-asleep, I fear he is going to take off my underwear too, only he doesn't. He's just harmlessly undressing me, making me feel more comfortable to sleep in the bed, that's all. He leaves me in the jacket he let me wear tonight; He doesn't try taking it off me, perhaps out of concern it will wake me. I hear the faint rustling noise of my denim shorts as he folds them carefully, his shadow moving down as he also grabs my pair of sneakers, my socks, to place them all neatly on the small white tub chair near the window of the room. But when he does it next, I'm not completely certain whether it's just me imagining it or if its real.

Returning to the end of the bed, he kneels slightly, gliding his fingertips down over one of my ankles, gently caressing. Then I think I feel something else. The curve of his warm lips as he bends down, planting a light kiss on the inside of my shin, the faint stubble on his chin scratching me. But then I feel or sense nothing else after that, so maybe my sluggish brain just conjured that up after all?

 **Thank you so much for your reviews, they really do encourage me to continue the story despite how scary it is. Hope you liked this one. Would love to know your thoughts as usual? I'll let you decide whether you believe Christian's story about someone being out there to hurt her. Some probably won't like the way I'll be writing Christian but it's ultimately from a good place in his heart, questionable as it may be. Thanks, I really like to know your thoughts even if I'm a bit nervous.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Thank you so much for your kind words of encouragement and for motivating me to continue, I really do appreciate it. I especially appreciate your standing by me and supporting me with some of the comments received. It means a lot to me, and I'm really thankful! I hope you enjoy this chapter where more pieces are slowly coming together (hopefully)!**

 **Chapter 10- Temptation Builds**

When I wake next morning, it's to the sound of my alarm clock on my phone being permanently set for 7.30.

I roll over to switch it off, opening my eyes with a groan at the early morning light that assaults me from outside the window. I sit up on my back gingerly, relived that my bottom no longer seems to feel as sore anymore when I do sit up, placing pressure on my bottom. At least I can sit more comfortably now; That's one good thing to be happy about.

I'm still laying on top of the sheets, dressed in Christian's large suit jacket that swallows up my arms and my hands, while my legs and feet are bare after he undressed me, taking off my denim shorts and my socks and shoes. I peer over at the chair, at how neatly he's folded them up. While it's a nice gesture, him taking incentive to undress me of my shoes and my shorts after I crashed, it's a little... strange.

Why undress me for, particularly when I was half asleep and maybe it felt invasive, him taking my shorts off so I was just in my underwear? I recall the way he kissed my shin afterwards, turning my feet inward, staring down at the spot. Why kiss me on my shin even? Or was I just that tired that I was imagining it? I'm positive he did kiss me there. But why?

Aggravation lights up inside me when I recall our conversations at the restaurant and how he wouldn't even so much as allow me to have Bob's number so that I can try calling my mother through him. Why wouldn't he let me? And this supposed danger that's after me? Why be so elusive and not tell me what's after me or my Mom?

Rubbing around my eyes with my fingers, I force myself to get up, padding around the room for some of my clothes. I cannot believe how easily I fell asleep in the car after eating dinner. I do tend to get sleepy after having a full stomach, but... I crashed so suddenly, so deeply. I wonder why. Did he drug me or something? I almost giggle at the thought while rummaging around in the dresser for another fresh T-shirt and some black and white patterned harem pants I bothered to bring with me. Surely he wouldn't have drugged me, would he? It seems impossible. I mean, I never even saw him leave the table while we ate.

Taking off his jacket, I fold it as neatly as possible while shuffling into my shirt. Then I step into the baggy harem pants. He isn't bound to like my choice of clothes today, if his reaction whenever I wear anything is anything to go by. My shirt is cropped, so that my belly and some skin shows- I've become a girl who sort of likes that boho, indie look. But so what? What right does he have to get offended by my clothing choices? He has no right to tell me what to wear anyway. My Mom certainly didn't care or comment on my fashion style, so why should he be allowed to?

Comfortably dressed, I grab his jacket, draping it along my arm as I sneak barefooted into the carpeted hallway. My brain suddenly is reminded that it's a Saturday today, which sort of sucks. It's the weekend now, and I think I remember Christian telling me that he doesn't work on weekends, aside from heading into his study from time to time. The thought of being stuck with him... it makes my insides whirl.

I find him where he is every morning, as it turns out. He's working out in his gym room, shirtless and barefooted, in nothing else but black baggy sweatpants. I lean against the doorway, watching him quietly while holding his folded jacket between my hands, unable to help it.

While I am definitely not happy and am mad at him due to what he did to me, and I definitely don't trust him either, that doesn't mean I can't appreciate a hot body or that that appreciation automatically stops for the person.

He's doing his chin up thing against the upper bars of the weight lifting machine, pulling himself up, then back down so his feet touch the floor, his bicep muscles straining while he pants laboriously. I can't deny it's pretty impressive, his upper body strength in being able to haul himself up by his arms alone. And the way he does it, in repetitive quick sets without any break in between, that's pretty impressive, too. Fifth time I see him do it, the tendons in his arms begin to shake against the exertion, and he makes a deep, pained noise.

I bet his arms are killing him.

Realizing I'm just standing around like a weirdo while ogling the taunt muscles in his back, I force myself to finally speak, bringing attention to myself. "Morning," I mutter loudly, my voice sounding weirdly husky.

I try not to laugh vindictively when he loses his grip on the bars, his palms sliding loose, startling at the sound of my voice. He drops to his feet, turning to glance at me while wiping his sweaty hands down the sides of his sweatpants. I should probably feel bad for scaring him, but I don't. Not even a little bit.

"Good morning, Anastasia," he replies, bringing up a hand to wipe the back of it over his sweaty forehead. "You frightened me. I didn't realize you were there?" He raises his eyebrows at me while he breathes heavily through parted lips shakily.

I get the impression he's angling me to apologize for scaring him, but there is no way in hell that I'm going to be going that. I shrug, shifting shoulders so I'm leaning against the other side of the door-frame. "Old habit, I guess."

"Did you sleep well?"

I get unpleasant mental flashes of him undressing me and removing my shorts as he bends down to grab his plastic water bottle off the floor. "I did sleep very well surprisingly. I don't think I've even slept that well since I first came here."

He nods, eyeing me while holding his bottle to his lips, sipping a few mouthfuls down. I notice his eyes dart down to my belly a couple of times, my skin that's showing on my midriff shirt, my crop top. I'm almost holding my breath, waiting for the minute he starts commenting on it. "You must have needed it then," he mutters, and he averts his eyes while running his fingers through his damp hair.

"Needed what?"

"A decent sleep," he explains, dropping his gaze to his water bottle as he screws the lid back on. "You must have needed a good sleep."

"I don't know. I crashed pretty easily?" I scrutinize him as he shrugs. "Did you slip me a drug or sleeping pill or something?" I ask accusingly. I know it's unlikely that he had, but I still can't help sort of playing with him. I guess the old me is slowly coming back bit by bit after all.

His eyes fly up to meet mine, an incredulous look flitting across his face. "Did I drug you?" he repeats, and he shakes his head, a look of frustration there, of hurt. "Do I really seem like that type of person to you, Anastasia? A man that drugs someone? You think I paid the waiter off to slip drugs into your stroganoff?" Wow, he's getting very... defensive. Apparently I've hit some raw and tender nerve.

"I'm kidding, you know," I explain with a nervous laugh once the satisfaction wears off from seeing him suffer. "I know it's unlikely that you would have gotten the waiter to drug me, Christian. You really do need to lighten up, don't you?"

"Well, I don't take too kindly to being accused of being the sort of person that drugs someone. That isn't the type of person that I am."

"And so what type of person are you?" I ask, unable to hide the bitter coating in my tone. "Because obviously, you're the type of person that spanks a girl? You're obviously the type of person who thinks its appropriate to undress a girl out of her clothes while she's sleeping?"

"I simply did it because I wanted you to be more comfortable."

And kissing me on my shin? Was that for my comfort too? I wonder. "You still haven't answered me or given it to me," I remind him, making my voice quieter.

"Given or answered you with what, Anastasia?"

"Bob's number? How many times am I going to have to ask you for it so that I can try reach my Mom through him, Christian?"

The muscle beneath his eyelid flickers as he squints at me. "I thought I explained it all well enough to you last night at dinner," he says, his voice low with frustration. "Your mother is trusting me to keep you safe."

"Oh, right," I whisper, remembering. "From someone out there that's apparently a danger to us? To me and my Mom?" I still don't know what to think on that. He gave me a few things to go on, but nothing about who this person is, or whether my Mom's even actually on her honeymoon with Bob or not. "Is my Mom even truly on her honeymoon with Bob?" I ask, trying to understand. "Or is that like... a lie because they're really escaping this apparent person after me?"

"Of course she is," Christian mutters. " _Of course_ your mother's truly on her honeymoon with Robert, Anastasia."

"Okay. I just needed you to clear that up for me," I mumble hastily. "Because right now... I'm not sure what to believe. I mean, sure, I can somewhat...get what you're saying, about me needing protection or someone coming after us. That makes sense. But it doesn't explain why Mom won't answer my phone calls or my texts? Why would it hurt her to do something like that, even just to... reassure me that she's okay?"

"Well, that's something you'll have to ask your mother, Anastasia."

"How can I though? How can I when she doesn't return my calls? She isn't answering me, so what am I supposed to do, other than getting Bob's number off you, Christian?"

Apparently all my questions have gotten Christian fed up, because he runs his fingers through his hair while reaching down, grabbing his towel. "I'm going to go take a shower," he says, ignoring me. "Gail's already here. I got her to start making your breakfast." Breakfast is the last thing I want. I want answers and explanations that don't give me a headache.

I hiss in frustration when he squeezes past me, his damp shoulder brushing against mine.

God, how hard can it be to answer me? Something seriously doesn't add up here. I swear he must be hiding something and I'm getting so sick of seeking answers. It just doesn't make sense. It's more confusing than anything else; all that he is telling me. Hopefully, since he's off work, I can keep pushing him for answers though. I don't care if it annoys him. I just need to know and a new determination forms within me to push really hard and endlessly once he's out of the shower. I just don't care anymore.

Throwing his jacket on the floor, I head downstairs, hearing a sizzling noise of a frying pan going in the kitchen area. Gail greets me with a smile as she smears avocado on wholemeal toast. "Good morning, dear," she says kindly. "Did you sleep well?"

"Um, yes. I'm fine."

"Mr Grey told me to get started on your breakfast," she explains, seeming to notice my confusion as she rushes to the loud frying pan. She pushes something around inside it with her spatula. "Don't worry, he's always like that," she adds, as if reassuring me.

"Like what?" I ask curiously.

"Overly concerned, particularly when it comes to people eating," she says with a laugh. "You should feel lucky." Lucky? Why should I feel lucky? "When he cares about you, Mr Grey has this habit of making you feel like you're the only person in the universe that matters," she goes on, surprising me, with a lot of fondness in her voice for him.

"You sound as though you... know him really well?" I comment.

"Well, I should do, seeing as I've worked here for Mr Grey for four years straight. You start to observe and notice things after a while."

"Um. Okay." How am I meant to respond to that? I thought I wasn't hungry or in the mood for eating, but as it turns out, I am. When Gail starts dropping the food she is frying onto the pieces of toast, the smell hits me. It's delicious.

"Fried scrambled tofu, darling," she announces happily. "I hope you enjoy."

"Oh. Thank you," I murmur appreciatively. It really does take a while to get used to; somebody happily cooking for you. "It smells great." She looks at something past my shoulder while I collect my plate and a knife and fork. I turn to see Christian must be done with his shower. He's wearing jeans and a white polo shirt, weirdly casual, his hair still damp and wet.

"Can I make the same for you, Mr Grey?" Gail asks him eagerly. "Or would a coffee suffice?"

"A coffee is all," he remarks, not bothering to thank her. It's sort of... rude of him. But Gail obviously doesn't care, because she happily moves towards his coffee machine to get started on making him a cup of coffee.

I pull back a stool, sitting up at the kitchen island. I glance up, noticing Gail watching between us speculatively while the coffee machine goes. Why? Why is she staring? It's almost as though she expects something to happen between us. What though?

I glance behind my shoulder nervously while slicing through my toast, finding Christian staring at me. His eyes seem to soften strangely as I meet his gaze.

"I'll be in my office for a while, as I like to often do on weekends," he explains. "There's some work I need to do, so if you need me for whatever reason, you know where I'll be."

"I doubt I'd need you," I mutter before I can stop myself. "I'm pretty sure I can take care of myself."

Gail hands him his freshly made coffee, but I don't watch him as he leaves. I focus on the green smears of avocado on the toast as I fork a piece into my mouth, chewing slowly. He definitely is lucky to have Gail though.

Once I've finished eating, Gail puts my dirty plate and silverware away into the dishwasher before leaving to work around the house, doing his washing, I guess. Boredom sinks in as I wonder what to do. I know Kate and her cute guy friend Jose said something about wanting to hang out again this weekend, but so far I haven't gotten any text from them. So what should I do to fill in the time while I'm here?

I slide off the stool, walking aimlessly around his large house. I consider turning on the TV, but that's boring. I head towards the balcony, sliding the door open while I stand out in the sun for a while, but that grows boring too. Then I remember what I saw in Christian's study/office area while snooping; The background check on me, on my Mom and Ray. The record of a money transaction into my Mom's account.

Why hadn't I remembered to ask him about that last night- not that he would have probably even given me a straight answer anyway, would he?

Biting down on my lip, I battle against the decision on whether to head into where he is or not. Then I decide, what the hell? I move back inside, shutting the door securely closed on the balcony. Then I head to where I remember his study/office area is. This time, I find the door wide open, and the instance I reach it, it opens up into the room and I spot Christian immediately behind his desk.

He looks busy and preoccupied with numerous papers on the desk while near his elbow, a laptop is open. He'll glance at the screen, then down at the paper while he grips an orange highlighter between his fingers. I hear the scratchiness the highlighter makes even from where I stand, as he runs it back and forth along the sheet of paper furiously, coloring something in. So this is what he does every weekend? He just works? Must get boring...

I clear my throat loudly, capturing his attention.

Immediately, he sits up straighter, eyeing me with some surprise. "Anastasia, what is it?" he asks, his voice filled with concern. Why would he be concerned? "Is everything all right? Did something happen with Gail-"

"-Everything's fine," I murmur hastily. "I was just bored so I thought I'd come in here and see what you were doing." Obviously, that isn't really my intention, but he can't know that. "So is this what you do every weekend? You come in here and work?"

"Yes, that's pretty much it."

"But what about... fun things? Don't you do fun things on weekends, like... parties or meeting people?"

"No, it's like I told you before when you asked, Anastasia. After a while, when you get to a certain age, parties and things like social gatherings, they tend to lose their appeal."

I notice he is watching me very carefully as I enter the room, glancing around curiously. My eyes focus on his bookshelf again, and I wander over to it, a silent laugh making me grin as my eyes seek out that book of his again. That _Karmasutra: Styles of Sex_ book.

When I turn around to look at him again, I see he is still watching my every movement. I don't think he even looked away once. His eyes drift to the skin on my belly for some reason briefly, before he averts his gaze quickly back to the sheets of paper in front of him.

"What are you doing?" I ask curiously as I step behind him, eyeing the sheet of paper he is now scribbling on with the highlighter.

He sighs loudly. "Nothing all that interesting, Anastasia, believe me." He shifts slightly in his chair to look back at me, then I notice he reaches over, quickly minimizing the screen that's opened on his laptop. What? Is he worried I'll see something I shouldn't? Although I still feel angry over him spanking me and his general attitude of evasiveness, it makes me laugh.

"That was very suspicious of you," I murmur when I meet his gaze as he stares back up at me. "Are you looking at porn or something?"

"Porn?" he repeats, and his expression, how irritated and incredulous he looks, it is hilarious. I just find it so addictive, teasing him and getting him annoyed for some reason. It's just so thrilling and fun to me. "Of course I'm not looking at porn, Anastasia."

"You sure you aren't?" I keep up. "You just minimized the page on your laptop screen, like your being very... secretive?"

"Fine. If you must really know..." He clicks the page open so it comes onto the screen again. It's just some sort of spreadsheet. "This is simply for work. It's hardly anything close to porn, Anastasia. Happy?" His eyes scrutinize my face sternly. Wow, he really can't take a joke.

"I was just kidding about you looking at porn, Christian," I mutter, spelling it out for him. "I'm just trying to... tease you, if you hadn't noticed?"

"Did you eat all of your breakfast?" he asks me suddenly out of nowhere. It makes my head spin. Wow, I was teasing him, joking around and then, just like that... he's asking whether I ate all of the breakfast Gail made for me?

"Yes, I did," I inform him, suppressing the urge to roll my eyes. He can be really ridiculous, I'm finding.

He nods once at me, satisfaction brimming in his eyes. "Good girl then," he says, in that way he's said it a couple of times. Like he's praising me, a bit like I've pleased him. I don't know why it annoys me so much when he says that, but it does.

He returns back to coloring in some text on the sheet of paper in front of him with the highlighter. I bite my lip, wondering how to broach the topic of what I saw in the drawer of his desk. Would he even tell me the truth?

"I saw that you have a background check of me and my Mom and Ray in your desk?" I finally say, glancing at the side of his face carefully. His jaw twitches as he glances over at me again.

"You what?" he asks, his voice barely audible.

"In your desk, I saw you had a background check on not only me, but Mom and my stepfather Ray?" I repeat, eyeing him carefully. "Why would you have something like that?"

"You've been looking at my things?" he asks after a moment, his eyebrows creasing. There's an edge to his voice, an undercurrent of anger.

"Well, if you didn't want me to look, you could have easily locked this room and your drawers, couldn't have you?" I fold my arms over my chest, trying to hold my own as he stares at me. Is he going to answer me and explain why he felt the need to run checks on my whole entire family? "Why did you feel it necessary to run a whole entire background check on most of my family, Christian?"

"I do it for most people. Even Gail. Especially people I employ."

"But it isn't like your employing me or my Mom or anything like that, is it?" I just don't understand. What about that woman too? That dark-haired girl, with the photo as well? Leila, her name was? Was she just someone he hired? "There were a lot of background checks in there. There was one for a woman, too? Was _she_ employed by you?"

"Leila?" he asks softly, a reluctance in his voice to even so much as speak her name. I nod. "Yes, she was employed by me a year ago, Anastasia. As I said, I like to do it for everyone. It wasn't just for you or your mother. It's Gail, Jason Taylor, Sawyer..." At least he's actually explaining it to me, though I don't understand much.

"And it was my mother? You gave _my mother_ twenty four thousand dollars? I saw, along with the background checks, a record of a bank statement that showed a twenty four thousand dollar transaction into her account from you?"

Clearly he didn't want me to see that. I see as much, in the way he closes his eyes briefly for a moment, sighing loudly through his nose. Once he slowly reopens his eyes to look back at me, I see something there shining in his gray eyes, though I'm not sure what. "I gave your mother twenty four thousand dollars, yes, Anastasia," he admits, eyeing me warily.

"Why?" I ask shakily. Twenty four thousand dollars is huge! And to my Mom! I cannot believe my Mom would even accept such a large amount of money from someone. "Why would you give my Mom such a ludicrously large amount of money, Christian?"

 _That's_ what doesn't add up most of all. He says my Mom and I are in danger, yet I see the background checks, the transaction statement of money into Mom's account? Usually, in all the time I've known her, she couldn't even bring herself to accept handouts of money for help when she struggled to afford something. I always knew my Mom to be too proud, too stubborn to accept money from anyone.

"It was a gift," Christian explains, his gaze unreadable as his eyes drop to my uncovered belly again briefly. "A gift to both Robert and your mother. A wedding gift. Also, I paid the expenses for them to fly out to whichever location of their choice for their honeymoon. I thought it was... the least I could do, seeing as I was unable to attend the wedding at the time."

He paid for Mom and Bob's fight to their honeymoon destination? So not only was twenty-four thousand dollars a wedding gift, but he paid their airline expenses for them too? And what about this apparent danger after us? Where does that fit in?

"Right. So can't you check your credit card records or something and see what flight you paid for? Wouldn't you be able to see where they went if you looked?"

"Unfortunately, I only gave them a cheque before they left, Anastasia." He shakes his head. "I passed it on to Robert. It's impossible to know where they've gone." What about that apparent danger though? Just when I'm about to ask, he continues hurriedly, "And frankly, it's better that we don't know. It's better this way, don't you think? That person that's after you... after your mother... it would be safer if you didn't know whereabouts it was that they had gone. That way, it can't be used as leverage."

"But what if I _still meant_ what I said, before, Christian? What if I still want to leave and I don't want to be here with you, particularly after you... you did what you did?"

Christian purses his lips together, thinking deeply for a moment. Then when he meets my gaze again, he shrugs, looking somewhat apologetic- yet there's something there in his eyes. Triumph, maybe? But why? "Then I'm sorry, but... you're stuck. Your stuck here with me, Anastasia."

"And what if I don't want to be stuck with you?" I demand, exasperated. "What if I want to leave? What if I packed my things and walked right out of here, all because I refuse to stay here with you and live by your silly curfew rules?"

"Then I'd follow straight after you, and I'd make you come back," he says with hesitation, and the way he says it, it makes me laugh in disbelief. He makes it sound like a threat. "That's why I want you to start liking it here, Anastasia. That's why I bothered with taking you out to dinner at the restaurant last night, to... everything. I want to make this work, and I want you to like living here with me."

His words come back to me from last night. _I want you to learn to like it here. I want you to like... me._ So he wasn't kidding about that? He wants me to like it here, and like... him, because he refuses to let me leave even if I refuse to stay here with him because I feel it isn't going to work out, especially not after he spanked me? I just don't understand why he would want that so much, or why he really wants me to like him and living here with him. Why?

He said it was different with me, that he doesn't care about other people liking him or not, but it's different with me. Why? Why would it be different with me?

"Anastasia, I'll let you in on something, because... I want you to learn to trust me," he begins seriously, tearing me out of the numerous questions flowing inside my head. I lean my hip against the sharp side of his desk, crossing my arms over my chest as I watch him push and adjust his leather recliner chair so that he's sitting almost directly in front of me. "Remember... what I did to you?" He eyes me with wary gray eyes, inspecting my face carefully.

"If you mean by you abusing me and spanking me like I'm a kid? Then yeah, I remember clearly, Christian."

He glances away from me for a moment to focus on the books on his shelf while running a hand through the strands of his hair, his expression thoughtful, like he's really trying to work out the best way to say it. "Well, I was... fifteen when someone did that to me, Anastasia."

He meets my gaze again as I arch my eyebrows at him in confusion. "What? You were... fifteen?" He was fifteen and someone spanked him? Is that really what he means?

"It was... one of my mother's friends."

"Your mothers friend spanked you?" I blurt out incredulously. "At fifteen, your Mom's friend spanked you?"

"Yes, Anastasia. She did." He clasps his hands together as he tries to hide a smile for some reason, and then he glances down at them before bringing them up, covering his chin with his knuckles. "My mother's friend... spanked me at fifteen, among... _other_ things."

"And did you tell your Mom what she did? That it was... practically abuse?" I stare at him, finding his entire expression so confusing. He's smiling, like he's actually remembering a fond memory. How the hell can being spanked by a mother's friend at fifteen constitute as a fond memory?

"Honestly, I didn't... think of telling anyone. I hadn't needed to."

"What?" I can't understand at all.

"You see, Anastasia, what she did to me, it was... right. She taught me that... I was rebellious and I needed discipline. It continued for six years. As it... turned out, it was exactly what I needed. _She_ was exactly what I needed, at the time." He takes a deep breath and swallows, still lost in whatever bizarre memory he's thinking. How can he say that it was what he needed? That it went on for six years? What so his mother's friend continued punishing him? "I gave _everything_ to her and, in doing so, I felt immediately... free."

"Free?" I ask confusedly. "Free from what, Christian?"

"Free from... responsibility, free from making decisions. I felt utterly safe. If it hadn't been for her, I'd like to think that... my life would have turned so far different from where it is now." He meets my gaze earnestly while rubbing his chin against his knuckles. "I would probably be... fueled by addictions or violence or anything like that, only she taught me a way to make myself... better."

"And this was _all_ because she spanked you?" I ask dubiously, shaking my head. I don't get it at all. Or why he is bothering to tell me this, no less.

"No, not... quite, Anastasia. But she taught me a way to behave, a way to... conduct myself. At fifteen, I always used to feel so... lost, so... unwanted and alone. Those typical feelings of alienation, of... loneliness. Haven't you ever felt like that, Anastasia? So unwanted? So... alone and lost on what your true purpose is in life?"

Yes, I think to myself, but I don't answer him out loud. I definitely do feel unwanted and alone. Ever since Mom stopped answering my calls, unwanted is exactly how I feel.

He's describing me to a tee, ever since I think I started being here.

Feeling unwanted due to Mom not responding to my calls and just practically pushing me off to live with this man.

My life, before all this, it was so... planned out. Studying religiously to get good grades so I could get into college back home in Savannah. Now, ever since staying here, it's like all my life's goals have been put on hold.

It's lonely, because the person I loved and thought was my best friend, my Mom, she can't be contacted. I'm not used to going days and days without contacting her. We used to be so close, together everyday, so this change alone, it's... hard to adapt to. Just not even waking up to see her every morning, to hear her friendly voice. Her absence upsets me- even crushes me, melodramatic as that sounds.

I clench my arms over my stomach tightly as a way to comfort myself as I feel the grief building at all the suppressed feelings he's making me acknowledge from these past few days of being here. I miss Mom so much. I've certainly never felt so unwanted, so alone and... lost in life.

Purposeless, like he says. My purpose before, in Savannah, was college. But now I'm here, so where does that leave me?

I wanted to be strong, to never cry- in front of anyone, but myself, alone in a room where no one could see me. But it's too late. I can't even bring myself to be embarrassed as I feel that sadness overcome me, a hard painful lump forming in my throat as I clench my eyes shut, trying to rid those feelings away like always. My heart clenches with heaviness, my bottom lip trembling. But they're too strong right now, too impossible to ignore, thanks to his words.

A moment later, I feel warm tears trickle down my cheeks as my body shakes uncontrollably. Last thing I wanted to do was sob like a weak girl in front of him, but he's made it happen somehow. I don't even totally realize what's happening, until Christian's recliner chair squeaks.

Suddenly, he's pulling me into him, and my hands are gripping around his muscular arms as he holds me tight. I lean my forehead into his chest, into the warm fabric of his shirt, hoping to hide my face as the tears form again, a short muffled sob tearing through my gritted teeth.

Christian's hands stroke back my hair from my face gently, tenderly, as I inhale shakily through my nose. It's sort of... nice and comforting, I can't help feeling, when I squeeze my fingers down around his biceps. He's so strong, he's holding me to him so tightly. I realize how much I've missed this; Even just someone holding me and embracing me like Mom used to whenever she knew I was upset or if I had a bad day.

"I know, Anastasia," he murmurs in a strained voice, leaning down, resting his chin against the top of my head. "I know. I felt the..." He pauses, and I think I feel him press his lips into my hair several times. "I felt exactly the same way, too, at the time. Only _she_ made me feel better."

 **What did you think of this chapter? Hoping I am doing okay with the story. I understand this story won't be for everyone (though it will have a nice result at the end) and Christian will be rather dark. I loved reading your thoughts on what you think is happening and your speculation, so I'm hoping to keep that suspense. I apologize for taking a bit longer than usual to post a chapter, I've been busy with work and life. Thank you for being so sweet and supportive to me with writing this story, thank you!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Temptation Builds- Chapter 11**

It gets a little awkward after a while, just standing there as I feel eventually cried out, while he has his arms around me, stroking the strands of my hair gently, weaving the strands through his fingertips. What the hell am I even doing, allowing him to hug me? Angry as I still am over him hitting me like he did, I can't pretend it doesn't feel nice, being comforted. Even if it is by him, of all people.

I just didn't realize how much of an emotional wreck I am, until now. Until I started crying.

These past few days, it's been pretty tense and hectic. And a whole bunch confusing, too. It's hard to work out my emotions, but somehow crying it out while being held even by him, it makes me feel better.

"What can I do?" he asks softly after a while, sounding helpless.

Gathering myself, I pull myself away, sniffling deeply. He lets me lean back away from him, dropping his hands from my head.

Hurriedly, I wipe the last of my tears away with my fingers, embarrassment settling in. I cannot even bare to look at him, where he stands, staring at me like he's waiting for me to answer. Finally, I muster up the courage to blink up at him, my eyes feeling all puffy, my nose still running. He stares at me, his gray eyes searching my face deeply. He actually looks surprisingly concerned and worried. Who would have thought?

"I mean, what... did your mother used to do whenever you were upset?" he continues after a moment. "What would she do to help make you feel better?" _Is he being serious? Like there's even anything he could ever do, aside from letting me contact my damn mother or giving me Bob's number._

"I don't know," I mumble quietly with a shrug.

"Well, surely there was something she did?"

I don't even know why he cares so much. If I wasn't such a wreck, I might have found it sort of nice. But I just end up finding it frustrating, trying to think of what I used to do with Mom and how she would make me feel better when she knew I was upset. Because what's the point in him asking me that? He's not her. He could never make me feel better. "I guess we used to talk. She would let me talk, and she would listen."

"Then talk. I'm listening."

 _But can't he see? He's not my fucking mother. I don't want to talk to him._

I guess he sees I'm not taking up his offer, because he sighs loudly, glancing down at his desk. Then something comes across his face. "Here, I know," he mutters with a tinge of hopefulness in his tone. "You said you like reading, don't you?"

"Yeah, I did." Why's he bringing that up for? "Why?"

"Follow me. I have something to show you." He beckons for me to follow out of his office/study and I eye him warily before deciding to just follow and see what he means. He heads upstairs to a door I haven't seen before, to the right of the room where I've been sleeping in during my stay. He reaches up, grasping the door handle, turning back to look at me to make sure I've followed him, I guess. Then he twists and pulls the door fully open, standing back to lean against the wall.

It isn't locked like that other room he keeps locked is. I've been snooping around quite a lot since first staying here. I wonder why I missed this door, of all places. Then again, his house is pretty big. Monstrously big for one person.

Christian watches me as I step into the room nervously now that he's opened it, wondering what's inside. I make a gasp of wonder. It wasn't what I was expecting, really. Then again, I'm not even sure what I was expecting it to be in the first place that he wanted to show me.

So apparently, not only does he have his very own gym room with a treadmill and weights, but he also has his very own library. As someone who thinks of herself as a bit of a bookworm, this is breathtaking for me. It's so cool. The entire wall across from the door is lined with bookshelves. There are so many books. In the center of the room, is what looks like an extremely cozy lounge chaise for sitting in, as well as a few antique armchairs. The window is wall-length, like most of his place, I suppose, so it shows off the wonderful view of Seattle at night, all lit up and shadowed in darkness, or in the morning, lit in the sun.

It's definitely my type of room.

"Awesome," I breathe in amazement, stepping further into the room."You have so many books!"

I head towards one of the shelves, scanning all the titles on the books. Some look new, though they're old titles. Some books I wouldn't consider a guy like him being a fan of. Jane Austen, John Steinbeck. He really doesn't seem like the type of guy to be into the classics. It's hard to imagine him reading Jane Austen in his spare time.

I remember the first time I got here, how he showed me around. He showed me his pretty cool CD collection and his stash of DVD's. He knew I liked reading; I think I'd made that pretty clear on him. So why hadn't he bothered showing me this room?

I turn and find Christian standing in the doorway, watching me carefully. It's like he's trying to take every show of expression I have for his library room in.

"You've been hiding this room from me," I mutter, turning back to the shelf. I reach out, tracing my fingers along the line of books. "How come you didn't show me it when I first got here?"

"I suppose I forgot to."

"I told you that reading is one of my main favorite hobbies," I point out.

Walking further in around the room, I check out the titles on the other bookshelves. There's Lolita. Wuthering Heights. East of Eden. I reach one of the old armchairs, I reach down, rubbing my hand back and forth over the arm of it, stroking its fabric. It feels really comfy.

"Do you come in here much?" I ask curiously, peering up to look at him from where he stands, still near the doorway, staring at me.

"Not really so much anymore," he admits with a shrug. "I used to though. Now, however, I don't seem to have much time to read anymore."

I turn, touching the lounge chaise. You'd think the room would be gathering dust if it's like he truly says, that he doesn't ever read in here anymore, but it's surprisingly well-kept and clean. I wonder if Gail comes in here and dusts cobwebs off the shelves frantically.

"Does this make you happy?" he asks and when I turn to glance at him again, I find he's moved away from the door.

He strolls slowly closer to me, peering around the room at the large bookshelves and the view out of the window himself while shoving his hands into his pockets. When he reaches near the chaise, he returns his gaze to me, inspecting me seriously. Why does he care so much whether it would make me happy though, the room? Then I remember what happened earlier. My crying session, how he tried to comfort me. Is this why he showed me this? Is this his way of trying to make me feel better- showing me the beautiful room filled with books?

"Why does it matter to you?" I ask offhandedly before I can stop myself. "Why should it matter whether your library room makes me happy?"

He sighs loudly through his mouth. "If there's any books you wish to add to the collection or any one's that you are interested in reading, let me know and I'll buy them for you."

"Why?" I demand, meeting his gaze again. "Why would you?"

He meets my eyes with another shrug as the corners of his mouth quirk up. "Because, it's like I said, Anastasia. I do want you to be happy here. I want you to start liking it here."

And a large room filled with books will change that, he thinks?

"And," he adds, "As I've told you, I make quite a lot of money. No matter the cost or the rarity of the book, just let me know and I'll get it for you. I won't mind."

"Well, you've certainly made me feel better showing me this," I decide I may as well admit. It was a nice surprise and I no longer feel like I want to cry. "I don't feel as upset anymore, so you've accomplished it there."

"Then good," he whispers, pleased. "It's all I wanted."

 _All he wanted? What? To make me feel better?_

I still can't understand why it's such a big deal to him, whether I'm happy or whether I'll start liking it here or not. I wish he'd give up on trying, because I know I couldn't ever totally be happy until I'm finally back with my Mom or have at least heard from her.

"You know, I used to come in here all the time when I couldn't sleep," Christian continues contemplatively, tearing me out of my thoughts. "I'd sit right here." He pulls one hand out of his pocket, kneeling down slightly, patting the chaise with his fingertips meaningfully. "And I'd just stare out of the window, thinking all night. Sometimes I wouldn't even fall asleep. I'd just lie here."

"Why?" I ask curiously. "How come you couldn't sleep?"

"Why couldn't I sleep?" He glances at me quickly, but he seems faraway, as if he's lost in another memory. "I used to think about my childhood." Obviously the memory isn't as fond as the one he was lost in earlier when telling me about how his mother's friend abused him by spanking him. "About my own mother."

"About how your own mother should have stopped her friend from spanking you?" I guess.

"No." He smiles tightly at my remark, as though I've said something funny. "I'll let you in on something a lot of people don't know about me, Anastasia, aside from those closest to me, but..." He pauses for a moment, scratching beneath his chin, "While it's a matter on public record that I was adopted at a young age, most don't know what happened to me when I was a young boy. What really, _truly_ happened to me, the reason why I went into the whole adoption foster-care system."

I lean my elbows up on the back of the lounge chaise, listening carefully. While I don't understand why he's bothering to tell me this, just me, it's sort of... interesting; something I find myself curious to know. "What happened?" I prompt quietly.

"Well, I was... abused as a child, Anastasia. That was... before I went into the whole foster care system."

He was abused? "Was Bob abused too? Your brother?"

"No, Robert wasn't abused. As you know, we were adopted into the family. This was before all that, before Robert's and my parents adopted us."

I bite my lip, staring down at a mark on the chaise. So Mom's new husband, he wasn't abused then. But I wonder what abuse Christian is speaking of? Mental abuse? Molestation? It's terrible to wonder but I can't help it. "Then what happened? What type of... abuse did you go through?" I'm not even sure I should be asking that.

But when I peek up at Christian, I think he's almost relieved that I asked. He swallows loudly. "I was... neglected, among other things. You've seen me shirtless when working out, haven't you, Anastasia?"

I've seen him shirtless? I nod once, not quite able to meet his eyes as a glow of heat hits my cheeks. Yeah, I've seen him shirtless, of course. And yeah, I would perve at him on one stage there, appreciating his body before he did the whole terrible spanking thing to me. I noticed those weird marks on his chest. Is that why he's bringing that up for?

"No doubt, you've wondered about the marks. Well, that's how I got them. The scars."

Oh, they're scars. They're from him being abused. So that's what they are. "How did you get them?"

"I had burning things put out on me," he explains quietly, glancing out the window quickly. It's like he doesn't want to look at me now, like he's afraid I'll see how hurtful it must have been to him, all that he went through. "Cigarettes, mostly."

"Your Mom did that to you?" I whisper in horror. "She put cigarettes out on your skin when you were younger?"

"Something like that, Anastasia. Yes."

Just by looking at the side of his face, I can see he's gritting his teeth real hard, like it makes him angry, what happened. The sides of his jaw muscles twitch, his grey eyes narrowing thinly as he stares at something out in the distance.

I suppose I can't blame him for being angry. I can't even imagine how I would cope if that had been what had happened to me when I was growing up. Then again, it is impossible for me to imagine my Mom or real dad ever doing anything like that to me. I'm sure I'd be pretty messed up though with issues as an adult.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, though that doesn't seem good enough. I don't even know what to say in response to all that he's told me. I wouldn't have thought that he'd have been abused as a young kid. "That must have been really hard for you?"

When he finally meets my gaze again, Christian smiles, though it seems forced. His eyes seem a bit moist, like he's not only angry, but he's upset. "You don't need to apologize or be sorry, Anastasia. I had a rough start in life like many others, that's all."

It's sort of hard to believe he is telling me this. I have no idea what else to say. It's funny that it's hard to tell whether someone's had a bad life or not. With him, I wouldn't known otherwise. It makes me feel sorry for him in a sense, but I don't know if that's the reason why he told me or not; Because he wants me to feel sorry for him.

"I've never told anyone that before," he goes on quietly. "My adopted parents know obviously. But I've never..." He trails off, shaking his head.

"Then why did you tell me?" I ask softly in confusion. "Because you thought it would help if I knew? Or... what?"

"I don't know." He stares at me, somewhat thoughtfully. "I suppose I just... I want you to know me. I wanted you to know that." Like what he said all those other times? He wants me to learn to trust and like him? Is that why he's bothering to tell me something so deep and serious that happened to him?

I guess it does change things a little bit, with how I view him. He had some lousy things happen to him when he was younger obviously, which is pretty sad and depressing. Still, I don't understand why he felt it necessary for me to know, or why he wanted to share that with me, especially when he said he hasn't told many people that before. What makes me the exception?

"I'm sorry," I mutter again, because it's turned even more awkward now. He's just standing there, staring at me, his eyes moist and dark with pensive thought. It's pretty depressing. "It sucks that that happened to you then, that you had to go through that." I shrug, shaking my head, lost on what he wants me to say. "I wouldn't have known." I try to think of something else to say. I've never been particularly good with this type of stuff. "I mean, obviously I've never been through that, so I can't imagine. My Mom has always been great, she's been always really low-key and relaxed when raising me- which I've told you like pretty much fifty times already. But I knew this boy in school once when I was younger. He was in foster care and he had a whole lot of... issues. Like, he was pretty messed up and he was very disruptive in class."

"And do you think that's what I am?" he asks me, quietly, gravely. He cocks his head to the side, his gaze intense. "Am I pretty 'messed up' to you, Anastasia?"

I wiggle a little, uncomfortable. How am I meant to answer that? It almost feels like he is putting me on the spot. "Well, I don't know you all that well, so... I wouldn't know," I simply say nervously. I hate how quiet he's gone. It's really uncomfortable, the entire atmosphere change in the room. It's so melancholy, so depressing. "What was the last book that you read in here?" I force myself to ask.

Christian blinks at me several times, like my question has snapped him out of it. "Kurt Vonnegut, I believe it was. Slaughterhouse-Five."

"Cool. Was that a good read?"

"I thought it was all right," Christian admits slowly. "Frankly, I never got through most of it."

There's another weird moment where we both fall silent, with neither of us speaking. What to say now?

"Are you going to be seeing the boy and girl again?" he finally asks, beating me to it.

"The boy and girl?"

"You know, that boy and girl you met at the coffee shop that time? The one's Sawyer saw when I had him monitor you?"

Oh, he means Kate and Jose. "I'm not sure, to be honest. But if she texts me or he texts me, I probably will. I think they did say that they were planning to hang out on the weekend and that they wanted me to come too."

"Well, if they _do_ end up contacting you, you let me know." Just when I was starting to feel he wasn't too bad all thanks to him opening up to me, Christian has to go and ruin it all on himself. His voice is strict, solemn. "Before you leave, you let me know what your plans are with them before you go."

"I thought you said I only needed to tell either that Sawyer guy or Jason Taylor whenever I was intending to head out?" I can't help the whining tone to my voice. He's just so unfair.

"Well, Jason Taylor and Sawyer are off for the day, which means that _I'm_ on duty. You tell _me_ before you leave, Anastasia. And don't forget the nine-thirty curfew either."

 _God, can he not see how he sounds? He sounds like a strict parent! It's so aggravating!_

"You know what you sound like?" I mutter in annoyance.

He blinks at me heavily, his mouth curling into a thin line. "What?" he asks. "What do I sound like, Anastasia?"

"You sound like you're trying to be my father or something? Like you're trying to act my dad?"

He runs a hand through his hair, his face still stern. I guess he doesn't find it as outrageously ridiculous as I do. "I know I'm not your father, Anastasia, believe me. But we talked about this."

"Talked about what?"

"About how important it is that you follow the rules so that I can keep you safe at all times from what's out there." Oh, from this apparent person that's a danger to me. I still don't even know whether to believe that or not, but with the way he looks... how he explained it all to me at dinner, despite how his explanation seemed a bit holey. He seems so sincere, so maybe I should start believing him, even although I don't trust him too much? "Just like your mother wanted when she chose to leave you here. She put her trust in me, and so did Robert."

He steps around the long chaise until he stops about a few inches in front of me, his face still serious as his grey eyes peer deeply into mine.

"I'm sorry if you feel like that's me coming across as fatherly or paternal to you, Ana. Trust me, I don't feel that way." His eyes drop from my gaze to my mouth briefly, before he returns them back again to my eyes. There's something there in his eyes. Something shining and bright. He clears his throat loudly."Anyway, I should go back into my study and get some work done. You know where I'll be if you intend to leave." As he heads towards the door, he stops suddenly, turning back to look at me. "Tell me beforehand, and remember. No later than nine-thirty."

I roll my eyes to myself once he leaves, peering around the room again at his collection of books. He's definitely made me feel better, if I know now that I can occupy my imagination by reading, filling that void of my mother's strange absence for at least a while.

I just cannot believe how bossy and irritating a man can be. I hate his curfew and his rules, yet I think I've tried enough to ignore them, only to no success. The last time I came home late... I shiver at the memory of him spanking me. I definitely do not want a repercussion of that again, and if he does dare to do it again, I would definitely leave for good. It's sad about his childhood, though. Now I know what those unsightly marks are on his chest.

I end up sitting in the lounge chaise, relaxing reading one of the books I picked out at random, which happened to be Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck. It's a pretty engrossing read. I'm up to page twenty two by the time I get a text finally from Kate about meeting up and hanging out.

 _Jose and I are meeting with a bunch of friends where we met at the marketplace in 20 minutes._  
 _Keen 2 come hang?_

I definitely am keen. I fold the corner of the page I'm up to, sitting it on the corner of the lounge while texting Kate back, replying that I'll be there in roughly twenty minutes. Only because it would seem like I would be doing it on purpose- and nothing else- I head towards Christian's study/office area after slipping into my sneakers.

I find him sitting in his leather recliner, coloring in with a highlighter on a piece of paper while he reads something from his laptop. I clear my throat noisily.

"Ana, what is it?" He sits up, staring at me expectantly.

"As you said to tell you, I just got a text from the girl I've become friends with. She wants to hang out."

"I see." He glances down at his highlighter, shoving the lid on. Then he grips it in both hands, squeezing the length of it tight between his fingers. I think I almost hear the plastic about to break. "Where are you meeting?"

I don't see how that's any of his business, but I give in anyway. "We're meeting at Pike Market. She's hanging out with a few friends so we'll probably grab a coffee while we're there."

"And do you need anything?" He squints at me.

Need anything? "Like what?"

"I don't know, Anastasia. Like money, perhaps? Do you have enough to get something to eat and a coffee while you're there?"

 _Whoa. He'd give me money? Why?_ "You'd give me money to go out with Kate and her friends? Seriously?"

"Of course, I would." Dropping the highlighter pen, he reaches down into his pocket, removing his wallet. "Is that what you need?"

It's disarming, how ready he is to give me money. Why would he? Why's he being so nice all of a sudden? I wasn't expecting this at all from him. "My Mom gave me some money before I came here, so I think I'll be okay."

"Well, take fifty dollars." What? He grabs a fifty out of his wallet, holding it towards me between his thumb and forefinger over his desk. I hesitate to take it. I don't know if he's being serious or not. "Take it, Anastasia," he demands, his voice going rougher with frustration. "Even if you think you don't need it, take it in case."

"What's the catch?" I ask suspiciously. "Why are you being so nice to me? Why would you give me money?"

"There's no catch, Anastasia." His expression is sincere. Honest, as he stares deeply into my eyes. He shakes the money out towards me. "I just want you to start liking it here. If you feel deprived at all, if there's... _anything_ at all that you need, just tell me."

"Okay then," I agree quietly, reluctantly. I hesitate before taking the fifty from him. I still cannot believe it.

"Nine-thirty," he reminds me sternly while tucking his wallet back inside his pocket. "I want you back here no later than nine-thirty. Is that understood?"

"Yes," I murmur, still in shock. I grip the fifty between my fingers, stunned. It's definitely real obviously. I can't believe he would give me money though, so easily and readily. It's quite... nice of him. Unexpected. "Thank you," I force myself to say, even although my pride tells me not to.

"Your welcome. If you need anymore or anything at all, I mean it. Tell me." He picks up the highlighter, gripping it between his teeth, yanking the lid off. "Remember that denim jacket I got for you," he adds, his mouth muffled by the lid.

"Um, yeah?" The ridiculously expensive designer denim jacket is what he's referring to, the one he brought me out of nowhere. "What about it?"

"Wear it." It's a demand, an order. What the hell does he think he is, ordering me around with what to wear? Yeah, he gave me money which was... surprisingly nice. But telling me what to wear like he owns my body or even has a say in it? "Wear it today. It'll keep you warm."

"Um, okay?" Something tells me it isn't really about me keeping warm at all, but seeing how he went almost nuts that time he came across me getting sopping wet without a jacket when it rained in just my denim shorts and a crop top, I suppose he has a point. "I'll wear it then."

He doesn't say anything else so I take it as my cue to leave. I head into the room, finding the jacket. It is a nice jacket, I guess. Not really my style of what I tend to like to wear, plus it cost a stupid $645.00. Guess it won't hurt to wear it though. I rip the price tag off, shoving it on. The long sleeves cover my entire arms down to my wrists, as well as my stomach and belly. I guess it does feel nice and warm on.

As I grab my bag, shoving the fifty in that he gave me, I still find I can't get my head around the entire thing. It was astonishingly nice of him to offer me money. And, dare I even think it too, rather caring of him. I can't help feeling like he expects something in return from me though, whatever that could be. It's all so confusing.

* * *

When I get to our meeting place, Kate sees me. She waves at me and calls my name loudly at where she sits against a wall with a group of boys. One, I recognize as Jose, her male friend that I met the day before. He grins at me as I wave at them all nervously, wandering over.

"Hey girl," Kate says happily, patting the wall for me to sit next to her. I squeeze in between her and Jose, leaning against the wall while Kate introduces all of her friends.

One, I recognize as the guy that she said was her brother, Ethan. He's got a skateboard with him, which he flips over easily with the tip of his shoe. He smiles at me, in a sort of cute, nervous way.

"And that's Paul," Kate says, pointing out the guy near Ethan, who was a skateboard too. "And, as you know, Jose, who you've already met."

"Of course." I look and smile at Jose nervously. "How are you?"

"Good. I thought I'd bring this with me." He adjusts a leather strap over his neck, showing me his camera. That's right; Jose is into taking pictures. We fall into a comfortable conversation, with Jose explaining to me how he uses the camera. Then he shows me a few of the pictures he's already taken on it on the little digital screen.

"You're really talented," I tell him shyly.

"No, I'm not really," he says, with a dismissive laugh. "Anyone can take pictures."

"Jose gets embarrassed easily when people praise him," Kate points out. "He never listens when I comment on how good his pictures are."

"They _are_ really good," I promise him. "You have a gift."

After that, we end up deciding to get coffee at the place we went to before, but this time all five of us, rather than just Jose, Kate, and me. It's pretty crowded in the cafe on a weekend, but we manage to all squeeze into a table together. Jose ends up sitting right next to me, Kate on my left. It's that squishy that Jose's legs and shoes are literally pressing into mine.

I end up shouting for everyone - well, really, Christian does- by buying all their coffees with the fifty he gave me. Kate goes up to order for us while Jose starts a conversation with me. I can't help remembering Kate's remark on how he likes me, and I begin to wonder if maybe she was telling the truth. He keeps leaning real close to me and, at one stage, he tries to start a game with me underneath the table by nudging our shoes together. I suppose he is cute in a nice way. He's got a great smile, but I'm just not sure I'm interested in anything other than being friends.

"So, have you had any luck yet?" Kate asks, starting a conversation with me once our coffees arrive. "With hearing from your Mom, I mean?"

"Oh, no." My stomach sinks. "She's still unreachable at the moment. I still haven't heard from her."

"Hmm." Kate takes a thoughtful sip of her coffee, her eyes flitting between me and Jose. Jose, who has now fortunately given up his childish attempt at footsies with me. Now he's busy talking to Ethan and Paul. "He definitely is into you," she whispers quietly. "Jose. He wouldn't stop talking about you when you two met for the first time. He thinks you're hot."

"Hot?" I laugh into the foam of my coffee nervously. "Me? Very doubtful."

"Oh, he totally does." She nudges me excitedly. "What do you think?"

I glance Jose's way quickly, watching him talk animatedly with the other guys. His dark eyes are bright, twinkling with excitement. "Yeah, so he's pretty hot, but... I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"Like I said, I'm not really looking to have a boyfriend right now," I admit to her, sort of uncomfortable by the subject. "It's just... difficult right now."

"Oh, I understand," she agrees sympathetically. And I think she really does, which is nice, because she drops the subject.

Afterwards, we all get back out of the shop, walking together. To my annoyance, Jose has decided to walk near my side, hanging off me like a flea. When he slips his arm around my shoulders while trying to be deliberately casual about it, I squirm uneasily.

"This okay, Ana?" he asks gently near my ear. "I'm just trying to be friendly?"

I ignore him, letting him keep his arm around my shoulders as we all walk together. Then it starts to feel too annoyingly intimate, too personal and boyfriend-like, and I wiggle beneath him, trying to get free. I try to move my body out from him, stepping forward, and then I must have missed the sidewalk or forgotten it was there, because one of my feet go directly down the dip, and a terrible pain shoots through my foot as I twist around to catch my balance.

"Shit," I cry out, sinking to my knees. The pain is still there from falling into the dip in the sidewalk, and my ankle hurts when I try to turn it side to side.

"Ana, you okay?" Kate asks with concern, standing over me. "What happened? Did you hurt your foot?"

"I think I just twisted my ankle," I tell her nervously, and she sits down next to me, trying to help me out. It's no good, though. My ankle really hurts, no matter how slowly I turn it.

"Can you stand up and walk?"

"Probably not, Kate." Trying to move it just serves a sharp pain to dart through it. "I think I've sprained it." Ethan and Jose try to help me stand by supporting me with their arms around me, but first tentative step using my foot, it only hurts again. I wince, clutching onto Jose's shoulder. I think I've definitely sprained it.

"Should we try walking to the hospital?" Kate asks in a panic. "I mean, I don't know what we should do? Should we try helping you get home?"

I'm undecided on what to do myself, but I think maybe the hospital is best to see what they say. "Maybe a hospital, yeah. Where's the nearest one?"

"Just a few blocks from here," Ethan explains. "We should be able to make it." Up close, looking at him, I can start to see the resemblance between Kate and him. They have the same eye color, the same nose.

It's mortifying, but with team support, I manage to hobble to the hospital with them all. Jose and Ethan are so supportive, helping me hop along to restrict movement on my sore foot. Once we get inside the doors, Kate rushes up to the reception desk, filling the person behind it in on what's happened. Then we get called into a room, but the doctor informs us it's too crowded with all of us, so Kate just stays behind with me.

I get to sit on a bed in a white, clinical room while the doctor feels around with my foot, making me move it back and forth. It still hurts whenever I move it, and he decides on taking an X-Ray to see whether I've actually fractured it or broken it. I cannot believe it happened, but I guess that's me and my bad luck sometimes.

"Should we maybe contact that dude your staying with?" Kate asks nervously while we wait for the doctor to come back into the room. She's sitting beside me on the bed, gnawing at her fingernails nervously.

Should we call Christian? Much as I don't want to, it's probably best. "I guess so." I grab my phone out of my bag, finding his number. Being too chicken to talk to him, Kate does it for me, heading out of the room for some privacy. When she gets back into the room while holding my phone, I notice she looks red in the face.

"What happened?" I ask her anxiously. "Could you reach him?"

"Yeah, I reached him. He panicked and, for a moment there, I thought he was almost gonna yell at me." Christian, yelling at Kate? I find it so hard to believe that he would care that much. Would he really be that panicky over me, his supposed adopted brother's sort-of new step-daughter, hurting myself? "He said he's on his way."

"He's on his way?" I feel my armpits get damp with sweat at the thought. I don't know why I feel so apprehensive at the thought of Christian turning up, all because of me hurting my ankle, but I do. I hope he doesn't dare to get angry at me or scold me.

By the time the doctors back in, getting me to lay down while he probes my foot again, Christian appears, being led in by the woman from the reception desk. I feel my stomach knot at the expression on his face when he enters the room, glancing between me and the doctor. He looks sincerely worried, his eyes burning with anxiety. _Why would he care so much about me?_ Not that it isn't actually rather nice, I guess. It's weird.

"Is she all right?" Christian asks the doctor, and I zone in and out, watching them as the doctor explains what happens to him. He puts his hands on his waist, nodding at the doctor's words, his expression solemn. I really wish he didn't have to be here, to be honest. It's embarrassing enough as it is.

As it turns out, I was right. I had just sprained my ankle. The doctor suggests me limiting all movement of my feet while giving me crutches to use for a couple of days. I'm not allowed to put any pressure on my sore foot. Rest while elevating and icing it is his recommendation.

It's embarrassing being made a fuss of when I'm finally allowed to leave. I balance on my good foot before slipping the crutches beneath each arm, Christian holding me upright around my waist with his hands. I wish he hadn't bothered coming, because, now that he's here, it's hard not to acknowledge how truly worried he had been for me. Though I would prefer to not have to admit it to myself, it's obvious he _does_ actually care for me in some way.

When I hobble through the doorway on crutches, I find him a step behind me, his hands held out on each side of me, like he's braced and ready to catch me whenever I need it. It's overwhelming.

"Um, I'm Kate, by the way," Kate mumbles nervously once we reach the hallway towards the waiting room. "Kate Kavanagh. I'm Ana's new friend."

I think it's the fact that he's sort of my guardian for the upcoming six months that makes her feel intimidated. She holds out her hand for him to shake, but I notice he doesn't, with being too focused and preoccupied with being ready to catch me and hold me upright if I fall.

"Well, I guess we'll go and leave you to rest." She smiles at me sadly while Jose, Ethan, and Paul come to stand near her.

"See you soon, guys," I tell them, forcing a smile while awkwardly maneuvering my crutches, hoping to seem okay.

When we get out of the hospital onto the street, Christian grabs his phone, pressing a number. He holds it up to his ear, waiting for someone to answer while he pushes me gently back against a wall for support. He still looks so nervous; His jaw tight, eyes creased. When the person that he is calling answers, he sighs loudly, in seeming relief.

"Taylor, I need you to come to the hospital to pick Anastasia and I up." He presses the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger as he listens. "It's nothing serious. Anastasia just sprained her ankle and requires crutches, though... that is serious within itself, you could say." A fleeting look of relief passes his face. "Excellent, thank you. We'll be out front." He hangs up, shoving his phone back into his trouser pocket while glancing my way. "Taylor's on his way," he explains in a measured voice. "He shouldn't be too long."

Surprising me, Christian sinks down to his knees, kneeling near me, looking my foot over concernedly.

"On a scale of one to ten, how's it feeling now, Anastasia? You can have some Advil when you get home, all right? Some Advil and warm soy milk."

"Um, it's okay when I don't move it. It just aches a little, that's all."

He nods once, leaning down towards my sore foot that I'm careful not to let touch the ground with his face near it and, for a moment there, I almost think he's about to do something. Something like kiss my sore foot maybe? Kiss it better? But then the suspicion passes as he quickly gets to his feet, a strained look in his expression, like he's holding back from doing something, so maybe I'm just imagining it?

 _ **First of all, I am sorry for being slack and not posting a new chapter on the story. My family life has been busy so I haven't had the time to. Thanks for your comments, I really enjoy reading them and knowing what you think. Please keep 'em coming as I like knowing what you think. I did try to make the chapter longer to make up for my tardiness, so I hope it does somewhat XXX I understand a lot of people won't like the way I'm portraying Christian, but he will have a decent heart deep down inside.**_


	12. Chapter 12

**Sorry for taking a long time to update, I've been so busy with work and life. I've been working overtime doing night shift so I haven't had the chance to write until now. Hope you aren't mad with me and that this chapter isn't disappointing. There's a bit of an answer there I guess! :)**

 **Chapter Twelve- Temptation Builds**

It's a silent ride back to Christian's penthouse. He holds onto my crutches while sitting next to me in the backseat as I try to limit all movement in my leg whatsoever. I cannot believe how stupid I am to get myself into this situation. While I can be incredibly clumsy at times, it's embarrassing.

I glance Christian's way a few times while Jason Taylor focuses on driving. He seems almost pissed off as he glances outside the window; There's a silent anger emulating off him that I can't understand. What right does he have to be so pissed off at me for? Hasn't he broken a bone or sprained an ankle himself before, especially when he was my age? Didn't he have fun? While it's annoying, I can't deny I'm thankful that he came to the hospital and that he and Jason Taylor picked me up. If they hadn't, who knows how I would have managed getting to where he lives.

"Thank you," I force myself to mutter grudgingly. "Thank you both for picking me up. I wasn't sure whether to call a cab otherwise."

Jason Taylor is the first to speak, turning around in his seat to give me a small smile. "You're welcome, ma'am."

When I look at Christian again, it's obvious he is ignoring me or something. He doesn't bother replying; All he does is stare out his side of the window, deep in thought. He's clearly mad at me for getting myself into this situation, like he even has any right to be in the first place. He isn't my father or parental figure. He isn't my guardian, he doesn't get to tell me what to do or get angry because I did something most people do my age, in experiencing their first broken bone or sprained ankle. Why is he so irritating?

As we finally pull into the private garage, things get awkward. I manage to get the car door open on my own without Jason Taylor's assistance while Christian rushes around to my side, but limping up the numerous flights of stairs or getting to the elevator is going to become a problem.

"Hold onto these, Taylor," Christian orders, handing Jason Taylor my pair of crutches.

Then I realize his reason for it, and things get strange when Christian leans into the car towards me. He slips one arm beneath me around my back and the other behind my neck, then he hoists me up into his arms, carrying me. I know he's done it before, that night after dinner when I fell asleep in the car, but it's different now that I'm fully alert and conscious.

"I could probably manage-" I begin to protest weakly, but Christian cuts me off.

"Put your arm around my neck, Anastasia," he says, and he doesn't even need to express verbally how unhappy he is with me.

Reluctantly, I slip an arm around his neck, letting him carry me while trying to keep my head as far away from his as possible. But it's too hard and it only ends up hurting the tendons in my neck, making them stiff. I end up have to lean my forehead against his shoulder.

"You really didn't have to-"

"-Yes, I did. Now stop carrying on and let me take you. You can't crawl up the stairs."

I almost laugh to myself at the image of me, forgoing crutches, trying to haul myself up numerous flights of stairs on just my knees and elbows alone. I suppose he's right. It would be ridiculous if I _did_ try crawling up the stairs on my own.

Jason Taylor follows us quietly, still holding my crutches as Christian carries me into the elevator. The ride up to his floor is spent in a tense silence while I can feel myself growing more and more embarrassed by the second. Being held in someone's strong arms, leaning against them with my arm around them... being forced to rest my forehead against the luxurious soft cloth of his jacket, being able to smell Christian and the pleasant aftershave he must be wearing even, it has a degrading effect on whatever little is left of my own ego. I hate how helpless I feel, being reduced to being carried in his arms.

As the elevator stops moving and it makes a little noise, I lick my lips, sighing in relief as the mechanical doors slide open at last. Jason Taylor lets Christian carry me in first, and he brings me past his foyer, then up towards the stairs.

"Where do you want these, sir?" Jason Taylor calls amiably from behind us, causing Christian to stop. He turns us sideways so he can look back at Jason Taylor, to see what he is referring to. My crutches.

"You can leave them there for the time being, Taylor. When Anastasia needs them, I'll come get them myself. Thank you." Taylor nods once in response, setting them by the wall.

Then he smiles at us, but I don't even know if he sees or notices my smile of gratitude when Christian swiftly turns, making a start up the stairs. I can't even hear him breathing heavily. It's as if carrying me is easy. Then again, his arm workouts and chin-ups must be doing good for his upper body strength obviously.

"Thanks," I murmur once he shoves the door open into the room I'm staying in with his shoulder.

I try to look anywhere else but at him as he kneels down, placing me on the bed with the utmost care possible. Even then, my ankle twinges a bit with an ache as it touches the soft bed sheets.

"I'll get some Advil and heat up some warm soy milk for you," he says, ignoring my expression of thanks. Instead, he reaches behind me, grabbing one of the decorative pillows. He punches it into a different shape, then moves to the end of the bed, sliding it under my sprained foot. "This will help to elevate it," he adds, his voice soft. "The doctor said keeping it elevated, as well as limited movement with painkillers is the best thing to do."

I lean back against the pillows on the bed, trying to get more comfortable. "I know," I breathe, glancing up at him for the first time. He stands at the foot of the bed, peering down at me, both hands on his waist. It's disarming, how concerned he actually sincerely looks for me. Why would he care so much? Unless... my Mom gave him strict instructions to make sure I am safe or something? "I was there, too. I heard the doctors instructions myself."

"Soy milk," he mutters, like he's reminding himself. Then he leaves out of the room, to go do that, I guess.

Having a sprained ankle right now while being confined to bed rest, it really sucks. I don't want to be here at all. But hey, what's new?

Trying to distract myself while I wait for him to return, I yank my phone out of my pocket, opening it. I see I've got a text from both Kate and her friend Jose. They're worried about me and are both apologetic for what's happened. I smile as I reply to them both. Then I hear Christian's footsteps pounding up the stairs as he makes his return, and my heart hammers in alarm for some reason. Quickly, I push my phone on silent then jam it underneath the pillow behind me, hiding it.

He enters the room, carrying a warm steaming mug of soy milk carefully out in front of him, as promised. He holds an unopened blister pack of Advil in his other hand. He must have taken off his jacket; He's just wearing a black business shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, his eyes bright and only on me.

"Here we go," he murmurs, moving towards the dresser near the bed. I peer into the steaming mug as he sits it carefully on the dresser. It's browner than soy milk? "I thought you might appreciate a warm hot chocolate more," he adds, probably seeing the question on my face. "But don't worry. I still used your soy milk, of course."

My mouth seems to salivate at the mention of hot chocolate. "Mm, thank you," I murmur appreciatively. "I can't remember the last time I've had a hot chocolate." I reach out, holding the cup cautiously over my lap. The first sip I swallow is gloriously warm and inviting, the cocoa delicious and rich.

"Me neither, honestly," Christian mutters, like I even care to know. "But I do remember it being my go-to drink whenever I had nightmares as a child. My mother would always make it for me, my foster mom."

I have no idea what to say in response to that, but I manage, "You and Bob's Mom, you mean?"

"Yes, me and Bob's. The woman that raised us." He cracks open two pills from the blister pack, holding them in his hands. I feel a little uneasy when he actually comes and sits down on the edge of the bed beside me. "Here. Take these." He hands the pills carefully over to me, and I take them. He seems to watch me swallow them down with the gulps of the hot chocolate he made me. Weird. Swallowing another mouthful of hot chocolate, I meet his gaze nervously while licking my lips. He's just sitting there, the corners of his mouth raised in a smile, like he somehow finds me so endearing or something. "Better?" he asks, somewhat knowingly.

"Yeah. Heaps better."

"Good." To my relief, he stands with a sigh, turning to glance back down at me, "You'll let me know if you need anything else, won't you?"

"Actually, I left a book I was reading currently in the other room?" I remind him quickly. If I'm to be stuck in here with limited movement for a while, I want to at least read and be able to occupy my mind. "Can you grab a few books for me?"

"Of course." His eyes seem to soften at me as his smile turns into a full-blown wide one. It's like he finds it an honor, me asking him to do something. Why does he unsettle me so much? "I'll be right back. Just a second."

I finish up the rest of the hot chocolate while I wait. I try to wiggle my toes, to see if my foot really does hurt that badly. I wince, hissing loudly. A small numbing pain radiates through the heel of my foot to my ankle. I hope it clears up soon.

"Think I found your book," Christian calls, alerting me to his re-entrance. He's carrying a few books, as well as the one I'm reading, which he holds the cover up to me. "Of Mice and Men?"

"Yeah, that's the one. Thanks." He hands it over to me, setting the other books on the dresser. I go to find the page where I'm at to, then realize he's just standing there still, watching me.

"How's it feeling right now? The ankle?"

"Fine." I peer up at him quickly. He seems almost anxious for some reason. "It doesn't hurt too bad, only when I try move it."

His face falls in relief. "Then that's good to hear," he murmurs, the ease evident in both his expression and tone. "Just let me know if you need anymore Advil or if the pain starts building, won't you?"

"Like I said, I definitely will," I say, somewhat confused.

"Good girl," he remarks in that annoying way, like he's praising me.

It's like he truly cares, which is alarming. I wasn't expecting that. Or maybe I was. I just maybe didn't want him to care so much. Honestly, I don't understand why he would.

"I suppose I'll leave you to it then." He turns towards the door, his reluctance to leave palpable. I can tell he doesn't want to leave. Maybe he's feeling lonely? Or maybe he's in the need of being with company? I don't know, but there's... something there. As he is about to leave through the door, he stops suddenly, as if he's just remembered something. "Oh, you're wearing it?" He turns to look back at me with shining grey eyes. He makes a gesture, waving his hand near his chest, his eyes falling to what I'm wearing briefly.

I glance down myself; his meaning immediately sinking in. Oh, he means the denim jacket he brought me. I'm still wearing it, like he suggested. "Well, I said I'd wear it, didn't I? I mean, you were right. It _was_ fairly cold out."

He nods a couple of times, then clears his throat. "Looks good," he mutters, his voice throaty yet breathless. "The color suits you."

"Um, thanks?"

"Good girl," he says again. I grind my teeth.

When Christian finally leaves, I try to get into reading where I'm up to, only I can't seem to shake off the weirdness of our conversation and the way he was behaving. I have no idea what he meant by it all. And why is he being so overly nice? Is it just because he regrets not being able to help me more because of my sprained ankle or something? Too weird.

I shake my head, rereading the paragraph I'm on, trying to focus. But I just can't. Instead, I give up with a sigh, tucking in the corner of the page to keep my place. I pop the book on the dresser, then try to lean forward while trying to keep my foot as still as humanly possible, hoping to make it painless. I slip my phone out from where I've hid it, unlocking the screen.

I wonder if I should try calling my Mom again. But I've done that so many times, I know it will be hopeless. Opening the folder of contacts, I scroll through it. Then I pass Ray's number.

I wonder if calling Ray would be worth a shot? He cares about me and maybe Mom has possibly filled him in onto what's happening?

I press the call button, holding the phone up to my ear while peering towards the open bedroom door. As far as I can tell, Christian isn't anywhere near there. He shouldn't hear and, even if he did, why do I care? It isn't like he could go mad at me or like I'd get into trouble. I'm practically an adult and I'm allowed to call my step-father.

It rings through three times. Then, he picks up. "Hey there, Annie?"

I'm so relieved to hear his familiar, gruff voice that I feel on the verge of crying. _Ray's picked up! Finally someone has picked up for once!_

"Dad?" I murmur quietly. "Hi, it's me."

"How you been, kiddo?" The instance that question leaves him, he falls into a coughing fit. He coughs and splutters on the other line, and it sounds horrible, how sick and congested he is. "God, sorry, honey," he wheezes once his coughing has died down. "Got a damn cold that won't go away now. It's great to hear from you. How are you?"

"We'll get to me in a minute. How are you?" Ray's more important. After being sick and going through all his treatments and suffering so much, I know that for a fact that he's more important than I could ever be. "How have you been feeling?"

"Oh, you know. Same old, same old. I'm getting there, kiddo. How are things with your Mom? How's the new man?"

I feel all the air leave my lungs at his words. My blood seems to run cold. _So he doesn't know? Ray hasn't heard from Mom either? He doesn't know about this arrangement where she left me with Robert's supposed brother?_

"Actually, Dad, they've left me to go on their six month honeymoon. They didn't say where though?"

"Left you?" Ray repeats on the other line, confused. "What do you mean, left you?"

"Mom and Bob left me with Bob's brother while they went off somewhere on their honeymoon. They didn't tell you they were going to do that?"

"No, I haven't heard anything from your Mom. Aside from her inviting me to the wedding, of course, but... that was it. She never told me anything of the sort?"

"Have you heard from her since then?" I ask desperately. Surely he has, right? He has to have.

"No, baby, I haven't. I only heard from her two months ago when she invited me to the wedding. I couldn't, because you know, I was in hospital at the time, so I couldn't make it. So you haven't heard from her yourself?"

"No, I haven't! She won't return my calls at all!"

"That's strange, Annie." My chest feels hollow with panic at the unease in his voice. Apparently Ray hasn't heard from Mom either. Where could she be then? "So your Mom up and left you with her new husbands brother?"

"Yeah, she did. His name is Christian and he..." That time he spanked me comes to my head. Should I tell Ray how unfair he was to me? How he did that to me? I know Ray would be furious, and he'd demand I come live with him. Well, I wish he would.

"If I weren't so sick, I'd be wanting you to come live with me," Ray says, filling my hesitant silence. It's too late. "But you know how it is, honey. I don't want you to see me too sick, I know it upsets you. And with me, being at the hospital, getting my treatments, I just wouldn't be home much, you know that. Endless operations, all of that..." He starts grumbling under his breath about all the things he's been through. Ray coughs again on the other line. He sounds so sick, so unwell. "Anyway, so what's he like? He been treating you okay?"

I know I should tell him the truth. That I don't want to live with this guy, that he's strange and he spanked me once, and that he is determined to like me living here. How he's almost fatherly and strict, with his odd bedtime rules and curfews. Yet I can't help remembering the last time I saw Ray; How brittle and how much older he'd looked, how jaundiced and thin. Telling him all my troubles when he himself is going through so much, it seems incredibly selfish of me.

"Dad, don't worry about me," I finally say, trying to sound reassuring. "I'm fine here. You just work on getting better."

"I'll try get in touch with your Mom, Annie. Okay?" He sounds angry. Well, as angry as a bone-tired, ill man can sound. "I'll tell her how unhappy I am about her leaving you like this. Okay?"

"I love you, Ray."

"Love you too, honey. Keep in touch, okay? I'll try get hold of your mother."

"Great. Talk to you again soon."

"Okay honey." The phone crackles as he hangs up.

I shut my phone off, staring at the wall across from the bed. At least Ray is still there to talk to. If things become really bad, if I can't stand it anymore, there's always the option of telling Ray, if not my Mom.

But what I don't understand is why Mom hasn't spoken to Ray since after inviting him to her wedding? Ray obviously hasn't been able to contact her either. Is she still alive? Is her phone battery somehow dead and she's just forgotten to charge it? Has she lost the phone and can't remember her own daughter's number to contact her?

And what of this supposed danger coming for me and my Mom, the one Christian vowed to protect me from? If that were real, wouldn't Ray know about the danger as well? He seemed completely ignorant on the phone about Mom even leaving me here with Christian? I know that while Ray isn't my real biological father, he has been the main father figure in my life. Why wouldn't she tell him or put his feelings on this into consideration as well?

I get frustrated just lying there like a corpse, on the sheets of the bed. Shifting over onto my side, I manage to fling myself up against the wall without it being too of a pain. Hopping on one foot is so hard, but I balance my way towards the open doorway. It's then I realize people are talking downstairs.

"Oh. Where is she?" Gail. I realize it's Gail. "Is she not home yet, Mr Grey?"

"Oh, she is. Unfortunately she sprained her ankle while out today so she's reduced to bed-rest for a while. It's been a stressful day." Christian's voice. He sounds exhausted, stressed with worry.

"Oh, the poor thing. But there's not too much you could have done. Try not to beat yourself up over it. After all, girls will be girls, as they say. Will she be having dinner down here in the dining room?"

I bite my lip as I focus, listening hard with all my might. Their voices seem to fade off, to get quieter.

"Probably not. It looks like she'll be having her dinner upstairs."

"Will you be having dinner upstairs with her tonight as well, Mr Grey?"

I hop closer while clutching onto the door tightly with my hand to listen.

"Probably not, unfortunately. Things aren't going so well. It's... harder than I considered it would be. She just... she doesn't trust me." Christian's voice sounds defeated, disappointed. "It's just incredibly harder than I remembered it was for me. It's just... hard to build that trust, to let it... grow from there."

"She'll get there in the end." Gail's voice soft with reassurance. "They always do."

I am so confused. What are they talking about? And why are they talking about me, and how I'll get there in the end, as far as trusting him goes? Why does he care so much about gaining my trust?

"That said, I think I'll go check on her." Oh, crap. His voice sounding as though it's somehow closer, louder, immediately I jump into action. I jump and hop back towards the bed, hurriedly falling back down onto my side. By the time I hear him come up the last step of the stairs, I'm fortunately already pretending to read my book.

"Anastasia?" He calls, his voice quiet with concern. "Are you feeling alright?" _She just doesn't trust me... It's just incredibly harder than I remembered it was for me. It's hard to build that trust... to let it grow from there._

I fake turning the page as he appears, leaning against the open door with a shoulder. "How are you feeling?" he asks again, just in case I didn't hear him the first time, I suppose.

My mind still feels addled with confusion while overhearing their conversation downstairs about me, but I try my best. I glance up, meeting his gaze with a forced smile. "I'm feeling okay."

"Has the Advil seemed to help with the pain?" _Unfortunately she sprained her ankle while out today so she's reduced to bed-rest for a while. It's been a stressful day..._

"I think so."

 _Girls will be girls..._

One hand is shoved into his trouser pocket, the other running through his hair. "Gail suggested bringing your dinner up here tonight. Is that what you want?"

"Well, I can't really walk down the stairs right now, can I?" I mutter under my breath.

"Dinner should be done in about half an hour. You must be famished."

Ray doesn't know. Mom never told Ray. "He doesn't know," I mutter, meeting his eyes accusingly.

"What?" Christian leans off the door, holding his fingers to his ear, feigning deafness, I think. "I don't know what you're talking about, Anastasia?"

"Ray," I say, making my voice louder. "My step dad Ray, the one that I told you about? The sick one with pancreatic cancer?"

"What about him?" Christian shakes his head slightly, like he doesn't understand. "Is he all right?"

"My mother never informed him that I'd be staying here before she left me here to go away with Bob to wherever it is that they went off to on their honeymoon?" I watch his face closely, though I am not sure why I am. Maybe I'm looking for some sort of revealing reaction from him? All he simply looks, is perplexed. He brings up a hand, rubbing around his chin with his fingers as he stares at me. "I called him about fifteen minutes ago, and we briefly spoke? Apparently he hasn't spoken to my mother either, aside from when she invited him to the wedding?" I have no idea what I'm asking him exactly.

"Anastasia, I..." He shakes his head again, his mouth opening and closing a few times. He still seems confused. "I don't know what to say about that?"

"So she never arranged it with Ray for me to stay here while she went off on her honeymoon?"

"She mustn't have then." He runs his forefinger along his bottom lip, shrugging. "I wasn't aware."

I close the book shut, resting it on my knees. "I asked him if I could come live with him," I begin, wanting to test the waters. I watch his face closely again, his every reaction. He glances down at the floor by the bed for a moment, like he all of a sudden finds it too painful to look at me. Then he shuts his eyes, running his hand over his face, then through his hair, ruffling it up on his scalp. As he slowly reopens his eyes, a sigh escapes him loudly. His reaction is very curious. He seems almost... pained at the idea of me going off to live with my step-father? Why? It doesn't make sense?

"And what did he say?" He finally asks. He meets my gaze for barely three seconds before he drops them at the floor again, near his feet. The Adam's apple in his throat bobs as he swallows audibly. "Does he want you to go live with him?"

"He said he's feeling a bit too sick at the moment, but once he's better..." I trail off, my lie almost effortless. I know it's probably cruel, lying about this, particularly given his reaction. Christian seems really affected by it, which is disturbing.

He meets my gaze again, anxiety and something resembling fear in his eyes. "Well, if that's what you want?" His voice is low, a mere anguished whisper.

It's then I realize how much power I have over him. His reaction alone, how severe it is at the mere thought of me leaving and going off to live with Ray... Why the overreaction? Why let it affect him that much?

"You truly care about me, don't you?" I mutter, knowing the answer. I think I've realized it now.

"Yes, Anastasia." His voice is still too quiet, too low, filled with various emotions. "I do. When that girl told me that you were"- he stops, inhaling in deeply, raggedly-"...When she told me you were admitted into the hospital, that you were there..." He swallows again, shaking his head. "I don't know why I have to keep telling you this, how... many times I have to make it clear. I want you to like it here, like I said. But above all that, I want you to... like _me_." There's hesitance as he meets my gaze again briefly.

His words to Gail come back to me, about building trust. I still don't quite understand why he wants my trust that badly.

"Six or seven months ago, your mother and Robert, they had a barbecue at their place," he continues a moment later, surprising me. Mom and Robert used to have company over all the time, when I'd live with them. Saturday barbecues with family friends. I don't know why he's bringing that up though.

"Yeah, they did. I was there for most of them. Why?" I prompt in confusion.

He inhales out his mouth deeply again, closing his eyes. Then he rubs his hand over his face again, and into his hair, his eyes still closed. "I attended once, though... we never met." He speaks in such a deep, low rumble, that it's hard to hear him, but I think I manage okay. "We were never properly introduced, but I... I saw you once. I met Carla briefly." Running his hand back through his hair, he moves it away with a ragged sigh, reopening his eyes. He's back to staring at the floor again, like he's embarrassed or he's at a confession or something. It's so weird.

"So you went to one of the barbecues at our house that Mom and Bob liked to throw?" I mutter, shaking my head. I have no idea why that even matters. I don't remember seeing him at all which, obviously, we clearly never met anyway. We weren't introduced, like he says. "So what, Christian?"

"So... nothing." He swallows loudly again as he shrugs, his grey eyes lowering to the floor again. "I just wanted you to know, Anastasia. I met... Carla briefly once, just quickly, a mere introduction. Then I saw you there, standing in a dress through the crowd of people, I could hear you talking about tofu and animal rights among other things..." He stops himself with a short chuckle, shrugging again. "Dark haired, passionate and feisty. There, that was..." Breathing a sigh through his lips, he brings his gaze up to mine again, looking almost weirdly shy and embarrassed still. "That was all I wanted to tell you. I just... wanted you to know that I did see you once."


	13. Chapter 13

_**Chapter Thirteen- Temptation Builds**_

I have no idea how he expects me to respond to his confession on how he saw me once during a family barbecue. I stare up at him while trying not to move my sore foot on the bed, judging his reaction. He seems vulnerable, which is strange; As if telling me that is something he finds nerve-wracking, like he feels he's bearing his soul to me, in a sense. He scratches his chin with his fingers, his eyes on me, anxiety in them. Why would he find it so hard to tell me that?

No matter how hard I try to think back, six or seven months ago at one of the barbecues, I can't picture or remember him being there at all. It's funny how he seems to remember very well a conversation I even apparently spoke about, something about 'animal rights' or 'tofu' or something. He must have been standing close enough back then to hear me properly say that to someone, maybe even eavesdropping on my conversation. But why? What reason would he have to eavesdrop on me?

"Well, like I said, I definitely don't recall seeing you there," I admit again slowly. "Then again, like you said, it was around six or seven months ago. That was ages ago."

"I don't expect you to somehow remember me," he points out, and he lifts his hand again, running his fingers slowly through his hair. "I just... I wanted you to know." Christian gives me a small smile before turning away, about to leave the room again. "Dinner will be ready soon," he reminds me again. "I'll tell Gail to bring it up here. I'll leave you in peace."

"Thank you," I murmur, pretending to open the page on my book again.

As I hear him leave, I sigh loudly, peering up from the current paragraph I was fake reading to look outside the window. Ray doesn't know. While I'm glad that I did end up calling him and that he answered, it only leaves me feeling even more confused than I already really was to begin with. Hopefully he'll call me again once he manages to get through to my mom. I hope he's able to. He sounded so sick still, but admittedly, better than I've heard him sound before. There have been times where Ray has sounded way worse and more iller.

Something just isn't right though, and it's so frustrating. I know that something is definitely being kept from me, and yet, I can't be sure what.

My Mom not returning my calls. The very generous money transaction of twenty four thousand dollars to my Mom's account from Christian, as well as him funding their honeymoon trip away to wherever it is they have secretly gone.

The multiple background checks that I found in his office/study area.

That so-called danger that Christian briefly mentioned about, yet he's very evasive about it. He hasn't even given me any proper details or any in-depth explanation on what to look out for or what's happening.

And now, Ray not even knowing about my mother and Bob's decision to leave me here in the hands of someone that is practically a stranger to me?

My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of slow footsteps coming up the flight of stairs. I hear a rattling noise, and then someone knocks on the door gently before entering. I sit up straighter carefully with my back against the headboard as Gail enters with a polite, genial smile. She's holding a tray with a plate on it of food, as well as cutlery.

"Hello, dear. Mr Grey said you'd probably feel like having dinner up here tonight?"

"Oh, yes." I reach over, placing the book on the dresser. "Thank you."

She comes closer, then sits the tray of food on my lap. Like usual, the food she's made looks absolutely delicious. Tonight, it's tofu with mashed vegetables; What looks like potatoes and pumpkin, with a side of beans and peas. Smells great too.

"I've heard somebody hurt themselves today," she says, staring at my foot pointedly at where its propped up on the pillow. "You poor thing. I remember when I was a bit younger than you, how I broke my arm falling off a tree at a young age. It's horrible, isn't it?"

"Oh, it's not broken," I explain to her while picking up the cutlery. "It's just sprained. It should be fine in a few days if I don't move it too much."

"Well, still... you gave Mr Grey quite the fright today. He can't seem to stop beating himself up over it."

Really? He's _that_ worried? "It isn't his fault," I murmur with a shrug. "It's purely mine and my own clumsiness." There's an awkward moment where she stands there, watching me shove a forkful of the mashed pumpkin into my mouth. "Thank you, this is really delicious," I speak through chewing.

"You're very welcome, dear. I'll let you be. Just give a shout if you need anything else, won't you?" She grabs the mug where Christian handed me the hot chocolate, and I watch her go, feeling sort of guilty. It's hard to get used to someone being at your beck and call. I really wish no one would make such a fuss, it's strange.

I manage to get through most of my tofu and the mashed pumpkin, but I can't fit in the rest.

I consider trying to get up and wobble my way to the door so that I don't have to rely on someone else so much, but it's impossible. Even the slightest tilt of my foot, despite taking the Advil, it hurts.

"Gail?" I call, as loudly as possible from my place on the bed. "Um, Gail?" I don't think she hears me, so I try to be as loud as I possibly can, shouting at the top of my lungs, "Um, Gail? I've finished eating now?"

Finally, she hears me. I hear her footsteps coming up towards the room and I smile apologetically as she enters.

"I'm so sorry," I say to her. "I really hate this. I would have been happy to come downstairs but I can't seem to find the crutches?" I know Christian told Jason Taylor to put them downstairs. I really wish he hadn't now.

"Oh, that's fine, dear," she laughs gently, taking the tray and food off my lap. "Can I get you anything else while I'm here? Did you enjoy your dinner?"

"I did enjoy it, thank you. Um, do you think you could get me the crutches by any chance? I think they're downstairs?"

Gail's expression goes strange at my request. Suddenly, she appears indecisive and hesitant. "Oh, darling, I'm not too sure about that. I may just have to ask Mr Grey first?"

Ask Christian first just so that she can get me the crutches? Why would she even need to ask him? What, does he expect me to remain bedridden or something ridiculous like that? Surely not!

She must see my face, because she smiles. "Don't worry. I'll go ask him."

"Great, thank you." She scurries off out of the room, carrying the tray.

I really cannot believe she has to actually ask him, though. He can't expect me to stay on bed all evening, can he? Why does she need his permission when it has nothing at all to do with him?

Bracing myself, I sit up, inhaling in deeply. Then while trying to be as slow as possible, I swing both feet off the bed, being sure not to press my sore foot to the floor in case I hurt it again. I bite down on my lip, waiting for Gail to return. When she does, I feel relieved when I notice her carrying both crutches up with her.

"Mr Grey said that's fine," she explains, handing them to me. "He's just in his study area getting some work done in preparation for tomorrow. He told me to inform you that he'll be in there most of the night, but if you need anything, just sing out and let me know."

"Okay. Thank you."

She watches me anxiously as I prop both pads of the crutches beneath my armpits, then I stand, holding my sore foot up in the air, making sure it doesn't touch the ground. I can tell already that these next few days are going to be sheer agony if I can't move around very much.

* * *

When I wake next morning, it's to the bright early morning light blinding me through the curtains. Sleeping hadn't been very comfortable, because I knew, somewhere at the back of my mind even while sleeping, that my ankle was sore and I couldn't shift around on the bed as much.

I reach over, grabbing the crutches from where I laid them on the floor, nature calling. I really need to use the bathroom and its really fortunate that the bathroom suite is close. It takes me a while, both getting in, and out of the bathroom. Using crutches is not an easy skill to pick up when you aren't used to it.

Shoving the bathroom door back open with my shoulder, I hop back into the room, taking it one cautious jump at a time towards the bed. I'm halfway to it when I hear someone moving up the stairs. Sliding one of the crutches out from beneath my right armpit, I let myself fall and bounce back onto the mattress, sighing loudly through my teeth while holding my sore foot upright. It still feels sore and tender, even if I try to just move my foot this way or that way slowly.

There's a light tap on the wall outside the bedroom, and then I hear his voice. "Anastasia, are you up?" He must have heard me flushing the toilet.

"Yes, I am," I call back, sinking back comfortably. I really don't feel in the mood in my current situation. Not being able to move around properly and being restricted to certain movements of my foot, it's irritating.

I watch him as he enters the room, fully dressed in a tight blue sweater and jeans. He must have already gotten his work-out session out of the way this morning, because his hair looks damp and still wet. He looks unfairly alert, fresh and bright-eyed, his expression unreadable yet there's a weird excitement emulating from him. I see a second later that he's holding a narrow parcel in his hands. It has what appears to be a little red bow and ribbon wrapped around it.

"How did you sleep?" he asks, his voice concerned.

"Not too well, actually. I couldn't move around very much so it was uncomfortable."

Christian nods once, his eyes dropping to my foot as he slowly comes around the bed, permitting himself into the room. He bends down, kneeling, inspecting my foot closely with his eyes. I don't know why he even bothers, though. You can't see any outwards damage really. It isn't like there is any noticeable bruises or too much swelling. It's just the joint that's sore. His mouth parts slightly as what seems like a sympathetic hiss escapes him. "How's it feeling this morning?" His eyes lift as he meets mine with again surprising genuine concern. I don't think I'll ever get why he seems to care so much. "Are you in much pain or is it a little better?"

"It still hurts when I move, but it's okay." I glance down at the parcel he's holding in his lap meaningfully.

"You caught me," he murmurs, chuckling shortly in what sounds rather anxious. The corners of his mouth curl with a suppressed smile as he stares down at the parcel he's holding carefully himself. "I have something for you. I thought it might hopefully make you feel better."

Make me feel better? My stomach twists in uneasiness. "What? You have something for me?" I repeat cautiously.

Christian stands, helping himself beside me on the bed. The mattress lurches at his added weight, his shoulder brushing against mine. "Here, open it," he breathes eagerly. He hands the parcel to me carefully. Whatever is inside it, it feels rather weighty. And solid. "I was going back and forth with being undecided on when to give it to you. I thought now was a good enough time as any."

I glance over at him cautiously while laying my last crutch down on the floor. I cannot believe he got me something. Why? I wasn't expecting this at all. He seems on pins-and-needles for me to open it, too. He rests one arm on his knee as he shifts sideways so he can see my reaction more, his other hand stroking his chin. His eyes are shining and bright.

"But what is it?" I ask nervously. "Why would you give me something?"

"Just open it and see for yourself," he murmurs with a tone of impatience.

I give in, though I still feel cautious to see what it is. It's like when he gave me those ridiculously expensive clothes before that time; I have no idea what to expect. I unwrap the little bow, pulling back the ribbon. Then I shred the parcel paper apart with my fingers. Tearing the last piece off, I finally make sense of what it is he has bothered to get me. A laptop. A sleek silver laptop. MacBook Pro, it says. I don't know what to think. I've never had my own laptop before, but I know it's probably expensive.

"Wow," I murmur in shock. "It's a laptop?"

"Yes, it is. You don't miss much, do you?" His tone is wry and amused, like he's playfully insulted by my understatement on it being a laptop. "And it's not just any laptop, Anastasia." The insides of my stomach curl again as he reaches over, taking it from me, his muscular shoulder pressing into mine again. He pulls open the screen lid gently with his fingers and presses a button, starting it up. I'm not all that good with technology, obviously. Well, not modern technology anyway. "All the latest software has been installed on it, as well as wireless internet." Christian seems very enthusiastic and at ease to explain it to me. I cannot seem to get over my shock, honestly. I really don't know what to think.

"I'm sure it's really expensive, one of these?" I murmur, glancing at the screen as the Apple logo appears. He fiddles around with it, clicking open a page, showing off his computer expertise. I suppose a man like him that runs his own business has to be kept up-to-date and knowledgeable of computers.

"It was almost three thousand dollars, Anastasia," he confesses, his voice distracted while he types something in.

But wow. Three thousand dollars? He brought me a three thousand dollar laptop as a gift? It makes me feel uneasy. Yes, he explained how he gets paid a lot by the hour, but still. Three thousand dollars is a lot. I'm not too sure I'm comfortable accepting it from him. I still don't understand why he did it.

"Now, there's something else as well," he adds, and my heart leaps when he finally turns to look at me, meeting my gaze. Since he's sitting so close to me on the bed, it's a bit unsettling. His eyes are still bright with that excitement as he eyes me intently. Oh god. Something else as well? "Log into your e-mail," he says, and carefully, he puts the laptop back on top of my lap.

I feel him watching me with his eyes as I type in my email address, as well as my password. As it signs me in and loads me into my email address, I see I have quite a few emails. Most of them are just junk, but there's one that captures my attention. A name from a sender. It's my principle from my school back in Savannah. We've been on break obviously, but seeing as my situation has changed and I'll be here for six months, I hadn't been sure what was happening.

"I think there's an e-mail from my old principle back at home," I explain, clicking on it.

"You think?" His tone disturbs me. It's very knowing, as if he knows something I don't know. I really don't like it; It makes me feel even more anxious than I already do.

The e-mail opens, and I read it quickly:

 _Dear Miss Steele_

 _As explained by your current circumstances, we congratulate you again for graduating._

I swallow against a lump in my throat as I read, overwhelmed. I cannot believe this.

 _We wish you all the best in completing your studies and furthering your education in Seattle rather than Georgia._

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Elizabeth Bainbridge._

 _Head Principle..._

My head is in a whirl as I finish the last sentence. Apparently someone contacted my old principle and explained about me completing the rest of my school years and college no longer in Savannah but in Seattle via online correspondence.

I hadn't known what was going to happen. We're on holidays now and I wasn't sure whether to take a break before expressing interests in colleges yet, but obviously I hadn't known whether I was going to still be staying in Georgia as usual because I'm to be staying here in Seattle for six months. Did my Mom contact the school and put them up to this? I wonder in confusion. Did she contact them before we left, knowing it would be impossible for me to be back in time for college term when it starts?

"Um, okay," I mutter. I am really confused and also overwhelmed. "Someone must have contacted my school and filled my principle in about me being here for six months? They know that I'm not going to be able to attend and express interest college at Georgia because I'll be here."

When I glance Christian's way, I realize he's still staring at me, watching my face very carefully. I'm not even sure he glanced away once. His lips are pressed tight into a faint smile, his eyes scrutinizing me. "It was me," he explains, his voice unsteady. With what? Happiness? Pride? "I contacted your old principle and managed to pull a few strings. She agreed that the best course of action would be for you to start attending colleges and universities here in Seattle, seeing as you're going to be here for so long."

I feel the blood gush out of my face at his words. I really don't know how to feel, or what to think. He did this? He contacted them? So it wasn't my Mom after all? But wouldn't he need my Mom's permission to do that? I don't get it.

"It was you that contacted them?" I repeat, unable to hide the shock in my voice. "You contacted my school in Georgia and explained to them that I'd be here?"

"I did. I know that education is extremely important at your age. College, especially."

I know I should feel grateful for him doing that, yet I can't help feeling a little upset and angry. What gave him right to do that? More importantly, I hate how permanent it feels. It feels like a permanent choice, it just serves to taunt me as a reminder that I'll be staying here, I can never return to Georgia right now to my old life. It's like Christian is telling me between the lines that I'm staying here in Seattle, I have no option to go back to my home and complete my education at a college there in person. He's pulled the strings and called the shots.

It's so sudden. I had a few close friends back in Georgia, too. We'd even spoken about attending the college closest to school together. It's like I never even got the chance to say goodbye to them.

I am not going back to Georgia to my old life and my old friends. No, he's now made it so I'll be here in Seattle, in his house, while going to college.

I never even got to say goodbye to some of the close friends that I do have. Or my teachers, even. There were a few really nice teachers that I got along with well also that I had spoken to about options for attending college in Savannah. He's taken that away from me- just like that.

"But don't you need parental consent or authority or something to do that?" I whisper, lost. "Did my Mom even consent to that?" I stare at his face desperately. "I don't even understand how...?" I trail off into a soft murmur, speechless. I really don't know what to think.

He stares at me for a moment, blinking slowly, as if he's trying to work me and my feelings out. He seems almost let down, as if he's disappointed by my reaction. Was he expecting me to jump in glee? Hug him even?

"Like I said, Anastasia, I managed to pull some strings."

He is so frustrating. The ridiculous rules, the curfew he enforced onto me. And now, this? Now interfering where he's unwanted? What if I don't want this? What if I want to resume living and attending college in Georgia? Did he even think of that? When I look at his face again, the answer becomes obvious. No, clearly not.

This is just him, and what he wants. My feelings weren't taken into consideration at all.

I just don't get this.

"There's a lot of options as far as college goes here," he continues in a measured tone. "For instance, Washington University. Or-"

"I'd already planned on a college close to where I live with my mother," I admit, but he goes on, as if I haven't even spoken.

"Or, if you'd prefer it, I'm sure I can find a place for you at work. We have internships that pay very generously. And, as I've said before, I'd be happy and perfectly willing to pay whatever costs you need for whatever it is that you choose to do in life. I just want you to be happy and have a good, hard think of what it is in life that you feel would fulfill you most of all."

"But what if I don't want that?" I ask out loud, voicing my frustrations. "What if I want to go back to my old life, in Georgia and attend college there, Christian? What if I don't want this?"

His eyes close at my words and I hear him inhale in deeply through his nose. His jaw clenches and twitches as he breathes heavily several times, like he's trying to keep his cool. I can tell I've definitely disappointed him. Obviously he was expecting me to react differently, probably even kiss him on the cheek or exclaim my glee excessively.

"I had friends," I add tightly. "Close friends. And I'd spoken to some teachers before graduating about my options. And now... now I don't even get the chance to properly say goodbye now that I'm apparently to be attending college here in Seattle?"

"That's life," he mutters beneath his breath. "Friends come and go more often than you think. You'll make new friends here, Anastasia. Like that boy and girl for instance. They are your new friends, aren't they? See how easy that was?"

"But that isn't just it at all!"

Christian's chin inclines towards his chest, his eyes still tightly clenched closed. He shakes his head a little, his jaw muscles twitching again due to how tight he is obviously clenching his teeth shut.

"It's also teachers that I looked up to and were somewhat close to. I... I've lived in Georgia since I was born. It's like my home, somewhere familiar and... and safe. I know it probably doesn't make much sense to you, but... what if I wasn't ready to fully say goodbye to it yet? It's like you've forced my hand almost?"

He brings up a hand, pinching his forefinger and thumb over the bridge of his nose as he sighs heavily through his nostrils again.

" _Six_ months. I'm pretty sure I'm only to be staying here for _six months_ until... my Mom comes back from her honeymoon? Yet you doing this... it makes it seem more permanent? Longer than that?"

He shakes his head again. "Anastasia," he murmurs, an exasperated growl.

"It isn't that I'm not grateful that you thought about me being able to fully complete school by attending college and universities here, but..." I shake my head, unsure how to properly even explain it to him. "I would have appreciated some sort of warning first? Or just... time to say goodbye to my friends and old teachers? It's really like you've forced-" The words die down on my tongue as I hear him. He laughs quietly, an incredulous aggravated laugh.

"You just don't _get it_ , do you?" he mutters, and as he reopens his eyes and lifts his head, he fixes them on me, startling anger blaring in them. "I even contacted the colleges so that they can send out some pamphlets so that you can see for yourself what the colleges here are like. Can't you just be grateful and thank me?"

" _Thank_ you?" I repeat, irritated. "Yes, I'm thankful and grateful, Christian, but... at the same time-"

"- Your mother doesn't want you anymore," I think I hear him utter quietly through my words. He shifts away from me on the mattress, hiding his face a little so I can only see the side of it.

I stop talking at once, the words choking on my tongue. I feel my heart begin to beat faster in panic, in horror, my stomach knotting in dread. What? What did he just say? Did he just say that-

He bunches his hand up into a fist, pressing his knuckles to his mouth, his eyes snapping closed. "For fuck sake," he mutters abruptly in annoyance, but I don't know whether it's directed at himself or not.

"What?" I choke out. "Did you-"

"- Please," he whispers, refusing to look at me. "Please don't make me repeat myself." His voice is filled with agony, with pain. It's like he doesn't want to risk glancing over at me because he's frightened to look at me, like he's frightened to see my pain. "Why can't you start to be happy and stop asking questions all the time so I wouldn't have to say it? Why can't you start to like it here and stop defying me?"

I can't take it. I can't take it, sitting here listening to this. He's wrong, and he's lying. He's just making this up, saying something to hurt me. That has to be it.

I need to get away from him, far, far away. He's wrong.

With a detached feeling, I shove the laptop on the bed, then reach for both crutches. I refuse to look at him as I stand with difficulty, hopping towards the door. I need to get away, and quickly. He's wrong. What does he mean my Mom doesn't want me anymore? What the fuck is he saying?

I stagger towards the stairs, barely making it before my emotions win. I start to cry, hysterically, painfully loud.


	14. Chapter 14

_**Temptation Builds- chapter 14**_

 _'Your mother doesn't want you anymore...'_

His words repeat over and over; hitting inside me brutally like a wrecking ball each time. The way he said it, so harshly, it's even worse than a brutal smack to the face. It feels like a brutal and unexpected smack to the face with how hurt and upset it leaves me.

Some protective instinct tells me not to trust this man and what he says; yet it's already too late. I react at his words emotionally, breaking down crying as I lean my back and hip against the railing for the stairs, both armpits beneath the crutches, holding me upright.

 _How dare he say that to me, though? How dare he say that and speak that way about my very own mother; something so hurtful?_

I just don't know what to believe, but all I know is that I don't want to believe him. I don't want to believe what he says about my mother.

"Ana, will you please come back in here?" Christian finally asks desperately after what feels eons of years.

It's the very last thing I want to do- to find myself close in the room to this man right now. But I realize it is really the only thing I can do. With limited use of my foot seeing as it's hurt when I so much as even start to try leaning on it, I really have no other choice.

Wiping the tears from my eyes hurriedly with my hands, I brace myself, inhaling in deeply before maneuvering myself back into the room, swinging on the crutches. I find him as he was just as I moved out, still sitting on the bed; that laptop he gave me as a present since now long forgotten on the bed-sheet. I notice he doesn't look at me as I start hopping back to the bed; He keeps his head low, his grey eyes on his hands that he has resting in his lap. His expression is off... sort of sour and pained. Like he's sucked on something disgusting and he's left feeling upset over the bitter aftertaste.

 _'Your mother doesn't want you anymore...'_ Jesus. Who the hell says that?

Ever since coming here, it has been one huge unanswered question to the next. Firstly, Mom going away on her honeymoon with his brother Robert and being uncontactable. Christian saying he's not even sure where they were going as well and that he can't reach them either, even when I urgently need to speak to my Mom. The background checks, the money he put into Mom's account- which he claims is for the honeymoon, but who even knows?

That thing he said about people apparently being after me and my Mom, dangerous people, only to just practically... forget about saying that and not bringing it up ever again.

It must have been a lie obviously. Something he made up- that whole story about someone being after Mom and me. But why would he make that up?

Then mentioning about how he supposedly saw me once at a barbecue that Mom had at the house and how he overheard me speaking passionately about tofu and animal rights. Buying me an expensive laptop and making it so I'd be studying at college or a University here in Seattle rather than back home in the town I was born in, as if I'd... moved here permanently rather than for the six months my Mom's away on her honeymoon.

And now _this_. This whole bombshell about my Mom 'apparently not wanting me anymore'. It can't be true, it just can't be. I'm her daughter for goodness sake. Mom would never do that to me; She loves me, I know she does. This just has to be another weird... thing he's lying about. It has to be.

I stop by the other side of the bed, still staring at his face with wet eyes. He still hasn't said anything but that looks still there; That remorseful, beaten up, sour kind of look, sort of like he's sorry for saying such a thing. He tilts his head slightly as if checking to see I'm back in the room through the corner of his eye. Then he lifts up a hand to run his fingers slowly through his hair, something like another low muttered curse and wince escaping him.

He hadn't meant to say it obviously. It hadn't meant to slip out. _But where the hell does he get off saying something so hurtful and malicious like that? And to a young girl like me?_

"W-what did you mean by that?" I finally bring myself to ask, hardly caring how hoarse and quivery my voice is. "What did you mean by saying that? S-saying that my Mom doesn't apparently want me anymore?" I refuse to believe it. I know my mother.

Finally, he glances my way, something flashing there in his eyes. But he ignores my question only to reach out with his hand, smoothing his palm and fingers along the bed-sheet next to him, "Will you please sit back down on the bed before you fall and hurt your foot even more?"

I almost laugh bitterly at how desperate and concerned he actually sounds at the thought of me hurting myself even worse than I already have. But I won't do what he says, I am determined not to. Not until he gives me real honest answers for once.

"I won't until you answer my question, Christian," I mutter as firmly as possible, even although I don't feel very threatening or menacing at all right now. I know I'm all puffy from crying, my voice strained and too hoarse. "H-how can you say that my mother doesn't want me anymore?"

"Well, I won't answer until you sit down. So sit down!" His voice is harsh and loud all of a sudden, uncompromising.

Suddenly he sounds like a parent scolding a naughty little girl and it startles me. I lean back on the crutches at the sound of his voice as I get flashbacks at the same time, reminded of how he spoke that time while spanking me horribly that night when I came home barely two minutes late.

Christian must see the way I lean back, because his eyes soften and so does his expression. He presses his lips together in a tight thin line as he runs his fingers through his hair again, exhaling unsteadily. "I apologize for yelling at you just then. But you..." He stops and I can tell he's trying to reign in his temper. "I'll try to tell you everything you want to know. Just sit down."

I give in, carefully hopping around before falling back against the pillow near the headboard. Without a word more Christian grabs the pillow I used earlier to prop up my foot and holds it in place as I lift my sore ankle back up, keeping it upright and still. I don't bother thanking him for his help, even though the slight impulse is there. I just need to know what's happening and why he would dare to say such a horrible thing to me.

"I never..." He finally begins hesitantly as I glance down at my fingers, fiddling with them in my lap, my usual habit when I'm either stressed or upset. "I never quite meant it like that."

"What?" I spit out, turning to look at him. I notice he's shifted slightly on the bed so that he can see me and stare at me properly. "So you _are_ lying about my mom not wanting me then?"

"Not... exactly. Only... I didn't mean it to sound the way it did. It came out wrong."

"Oh, you think?" I whisper sarcastically.

At my words, he moves his head, looking down at his hands. He interlinks his fingers together in his lap, another uneven exhale leaving him. "What I meant to say... what I simply meant was that... your mother wanted time alone." Time alone? So why the fuck say that she doesn't want me, as though she's abandoning me? "You've been living in Georgia ever since her and Bob first got together. She wanted some time alone just by themselves to settle into their marriage and also, their honeymoon."

"So why make it sound like it's something different than that?" I murmur, confused. "Why make it sound as if she's left me here and has deserted me when really she just wants time alone with her new husband?"

I watch from where I am, the side of his face as he lets his head fall back, upwards towards the ceiling. His eyes clench closed and his throat muscles move as he swallows loudly. "Remember what I told you about what happened when I was fifteen? About how... what I did to you, I had someone do it to me as well, Anastasia?"

I know what he means immediately. It isn't something I can easily forget, of course. It still makes me angry. "Yeah, how you invaded my body by spanking me that night all because I was only a few minutes late? And how some friend of your mother's did it to you at a similar age as well?" I have no idea about it's relevance to my Mom, but I listen anyway.

"Well, I wanted to make some extra money at the time. The friend of my mother's, she lived across the road. She offered me my first job at fifteen. I cleaned her yard and removed old rubble and bark from her yard- rubbish from the extension to the house that their husband had just added, only he was a...a lawyer, he worked ridiculous hours. He didn't have the time to clean the yard so I offered to do it all myself for some extra cash."

I still don't understand the relevance to me. I stare at his face, the way he keeps his head tilted back, his eyes closed.

"The first time she did it, it was a hot Summer's day. It was excruciating work. I was out in the yard, cleaning up, and I'd heard her come up from behind me. She was wearing a bikini." A strange expression comes across his face- as if he's seeing the woman all over again, dressed in a bikini in the yard. "She hadn't even warned me that she was there. I remember I was..." He finally opens his eyes, turning to look at me though not really seeing me. "I was bending down, picking up this large piece of a branch, I believe, and then she... out of nowhere, she slapped me right on the backside."

His grey eyes cloud over at the memory and sparkle with something resembling happiness, as if it brings him joy to remember such a thing. But it's disturbing. She did exactly what he did to me that night; She'd invaded his personal space. It was hugely inappropriate, yet he clearly can't even see the actions as such himself.

"I didn't think much of it at the time. She was a lot older, I just assumed she was feeling lonely and was in a playful mood. But then the next day, she did it again, though even... harder."

I can tell he's trying to suppress a smile as he glances down at his hands again, interlaced in his lap.

"No one had ever done such a thing to me before, but... after those two times, I realized I'd liked it, even the mere thought of it. The idea that an older, somewhat sexy woman..."

He shudders slightly, shaking his head. "Naturally, I was confused yet it aroused me in ways I never had experienced before. I remember I started fantasizing about it-" He shakes his head again, arching his eyebrows slightly as if back there and shocked. "As soon as I got home, I'd lie awake at night, fantasizing about it. Only it wasn't _her_ I started fantasizing about, her spanking me. It was the... other way around _. Me_ giving the spankings and _her_ being the recipient of them."

What he's daring to tell me, it's disturbing. Disturbing and... wrong.

"Some weeks later I remember telling her about it. Or well, I can't exactly remember how it happened or who initiated the talk, since it's been so long now." He shrugs while unclasping his hands. He uses his right hand to stroke around his chin with his fingers, lost in his own little world. "But I confessed to her what I'd been thinking about. How I was staying up in bed at all ridiculous hours of the night, thinking about it. About me being the one doing the spankings, giving them to... _to_ _her_ or any other attractive woman in general."

He fails in hiding a smile this time; One spreads across his mouth as he chuckles softly in seeming wonder, in shock.

"And you know what she did in response, Anastasia?" He asks me, his voice barely audible. "She actually let me. She let my... fantasies become a reality."

"She let you take turns in spanking each other, you mean?" I ask incredulously.

"Yes, she did. And after those... few times of allowing me to take charge, to be the one spanking her, it... I can honestly say that it opened up a completely new different world for me."

"It's weird," I mutter before I can stop myself. "It's... abnormal. Abuse, practically, considering you were fifteen and only a child, no matter how much you supposedly 'liked' it."

"Well, regardless of what you say it felt right to me," he argues gently with a sigh. "It was what I needed, both _her_ spankings and _me_ being able to _spank her_. It was an... _unbelievabl_ e emotional outlet."

"This still doesn't explain anything with my Mom," I point out. I don't get why he's bringing this up all of a sudden. I don't care about whatever strange fetish or fantasies he had as a fifteen year old that had wrongly been brought out of him by this older woman, which to me, is honestly disgusting. I just want to know why he said it. Not any of this. "How is this even relevant to me and what I asked of you?"

I think my words do it. It brings him out of whatever weird memories he's having, his eyes no longer distant or dreamy as he blinks as me. "Well, coming back to that. Your mother wanted some alone time with Robert on their honeymoon."

 _Yeah and so he already said..._ "And?" I prompt nervously.

"And I agreed to look after you. I agreed to have you in my care while they are away because Robert trusts me to keep you safe."

But I already know this. I already know I'm stuck in his care here in Seattle for six months while they go off honeymooning together to wherever it is they're off to. But so what? "But I already know that already? I'm to stay here for six months until they come back?" He stares at me, an odd, pointed and meaningful way to it. Then it slowly sinks in, all that's happened these past few minutes.

The laptop he gave me as a gift. The e-mail. How he arranged for me to attend college or Universities here in Seattle. Like I'll be here permanently.

"My mother _is_ coming back from her honeymoon after six months, isn't she?" I breathe slowly as it all sinks in and begins to resemble something similar to sense. "She _did_ plan for only the six months, then once they come back, I'll go back to Georgia with them and start college there as I always planned I would?"

He hesitates to answer my question, his mouth opening while he strokes above his lip with his thumb. Then that hesitation seems to say a whole lot more between the lines, between the surface.

"N-no," I whisper as the realization hits me. All this time and I didn't even once realize it. I gasp in shock, in betrayal, my whole entire face going warm. "My mom intends to stay on the honeymoon for longer than six months? That... that's why you apparently 'pulled some strings' to get me to think about attending school here in Seattle?"

I cannot wrap my head around everything I am thinking and feeling, all at once.

"She wants me to stay here for longer than six months? And because she and Bob apparently trusts you..." I reel off, shuddering.

I feel like I want to do so many things right now. Cry and scream at my mother for doing this, for betraying me in this way. Why not just be honest from the get-go? Or even tell me she wants me to not live with her in the house anymore because of Bob, or that she... she even wanted more alone private time with her new husband, instead of just sending me off like packaged goods to this man so that he can look after me?

"Why couldn't she just tell me the truth?" I mutter angrily, speaking aloud mainly to myself in frustration. "If she wanted some alone time for longer with her new husband, why just... send me to live here? Why weren't my thoughts or what I wanted actually taken into consideration?"

I want to go to school in Georgia, not... here! I don't want to live here any longer! So what about me? What am I supposed to do?

The fact that my Mom's done this to me, that I apparently annoy her so much that she wants space from me to be with her new husband, it stings brutally. It actually kills me. Reaching behind me blindly, I find the pillow that my back is leaning on and fling it forward, crushing it up against my chest with my arms. I thought my Mom and I were best friends and that she loved me?

"And what about what you told me?" I blurt out, my voice emotionless. "About this supposed danger that's after me and my Mom, huh? How you said that I was here because you... you had better resources to protect me?"

Even as I speak it out loud now, the story sounds so pathetic, so ridiculous. Obviously that was just bullshit he made up.

He glances down at his hands again as if finding it too difficult to meet me in the eye. "I'm sorry," he murmurs softly, and he closes his eyes for a moment. I think I see something like guilt etching across his face briefly.

"So that was bullshit?" I retort shakily. I'm on the verge of shouting, I'm so pissed off. "Then it's no wonder! You were so evasive about that and you haven't even repeated or mentioned that story about the supposed dangers at all! It's really no fucking wonder then, is it, seeing as you made the whole thing up?"

He shakes his head at my words, exasperation in his expression. I almost burst out laughing in outrage. What? He dares to deny otherwise? What a fucking liar, this whole entire time!

"I couldn't figure out how to tell you," he says, his voice barely audible. He's speaking through gritted teeth.

"You couldn't figure out how to tell me? Hmm, well how about telling me the truth from the get-go? That my Mom doesn't want me to live with her and Bob anymore, instead of lying through your teeth and making up some stupid story about being in danger!"

"I knew you'd be upset if you knew the true reason," he murmurs, his head still lowered to his hands. "Hurting you, upsetting you..." He sighs loudly, shaking his head again. When he finally turns to meet my gaze, he stares at me for a long moment, something like pleading and remorse in his gray eyes. It's so difficult to look at him. I feel like slapping him right across the face for this, I'm _that_ lethally angry and betrayed. "I didn't want to do that to you."

"Oh? Yet you could lie to my face about this stupid story about there being a danger out there for me and my Mom?" If my stupid foot wasn't sore the way it was right now, I would have sprang up, gathered my things, and left for good.

I cannot believe this. I grit my teeth, gnashing hard in all my frustration, anger and hurt. And then the tears start to come. I crush the pillow to my chest as hard as possible as I try to turn my head away. I feel so lost, so alone and unloved right now. My mother-how could she do this to me? Why not say and tell me the truth?

"So is that ultimately why she won't pick up the phone and why she refuses to answer my calls?" I demand loudly through my teeth, the tears trickling down my face. "She doesn't want to speak to me? She wants to pretend I don't exist anymore?"

"I told her and assured her that... it would be best if she didn't answer your phone calls." My head whips to him at his words, my blurry eyes widening. He flinches away from my look, grimacing down at his hands. "That it wouldn't... hurt as much. For either of you."

" _You_ did?" I seethe petulantly. " _You_ were the reason she never picks up and answers my calls? It's because _you_ told her to?"

And I've really heard enough. I cannot listen to anymore. I can't listen to any of this! If this is the way my mother wants it now, then well, this is what she'll get!

Crying furiously through my teeth, I reach for the crutches, leaping to my feet off the bed. "I'm leaving and I _refuse_ to stay here with you any longer," I cry out. " _I hate_ you and _I refuse_ to live here with you! Oh, and as for my mother, well, she gets her wish! She can never have to see me ever again because, as far as I'm concerned, I no longer have a mother if she can do this to me!"

"Ana, you aren't leaving," he has the nerve to say firmly from the bed. I ignore him, wobbling out the room slowly towards the stairs in my crutches. _Stupid crutches! Stupid foot!_ "Ana!"

As I hop and hobble my way around the flight of stairs, suddenly and without warning, he gets near me, startling me. I fall back against the wall, breathing heavily in fright at his appearance, staring up at him through my furious wet eyes. He's breathing heavily, his demeanor quietly determined yet also redolent of determination to stop me trying to leave. One hand comes up to my shoulder as he holds me in place against the wall, the rest of his body blocking the way down the flight of stairs. Why the hell should he care so much whether I leave or not? Why can't he just leave me alone?

"Get your hand _off_ me," I mutter in an ominously quiet voice, shaking his hand off. He drops it from my shoulder immediately as if I've just stung him. "I'm not staying here! I refuse to live with you no matter what's been arranged with my mother or Bob in me staying here!"

"Where are you going to go?" he asks through his loud breathing, something like anger or concern glittering in his gray eyes. " _Where can_ you go right now with your foot like that and with you being unable to walk properly?"

"Right now I don't give a shit where I go! All I know is that _anywhere_ is better than here!"

"Well, tough. Your not leaving."

"Excuse me?" I gasp at the nerve he has, lifting my gaze to meet his incredulously. _How dare he say that like he's allowed to boss me around!_ "I don't think you have any right to tell me what to do!"

"Well, I beg to differ," he says with a cold shrug, his forehead creased. "I know you are upset right now but your only seventeen. As I've said to you multiple times before when you've tried to leave, I'm _not just going to let_ you leave to go out onto the street where it's unsafe and you could get hurt. Particularly not with you being extra vulnerable the way you are with your foot."

 _God, why does he even care whether I'll be safe or not? My mother apparently doesn't even care anymore so why should he?_

More tears fill in my eyes and trickle down my face as I try one last, feeble time to get past him towards the stairs. Because my balance isn't all that good to begin with, he easily nudges me back against the wall with his shoulder.

I fall back, leaning half against the wall as well as with my crutches as I bring my eyes up to stare at him beseechingly. I feel suddenly so exhausted, so tired and weary to the bone.

"Please I just... I want to go," I say tonelessly. "I don't want to be here so please, Christian. Just move out of the way and let me go!"

He's standing so close to me, barely inches away and blocking the stairs. He stares back down at me, his deep gray eyes searching my face. I find I hate the look in his eyes, at how much concern is filled in them. I hate the fact that he won't let me leave easily even more.

"What the hell do you want from me?" I ground out in annoyance tiredly when he doesn't bother saying or doing anything. He just stands there, in front of me, refusing to let me go.

His expression changes ever so slightly in a way that makes my stomach flop with unease. His eyes- lighting up and building with something that seems an odd mix of unnerving humor and tenderness- keep shifting from staring deeply back into mine, then to my cheeks and what probably is the track of tears on them, then to my lips, and back up again. Why isn't he answering me for goodness sake?

"Why do you insist I stay here? Why do you _even care so much_ about me, Christian? I mean, shouldn't you be jumping at the chance of me offering to leave? I'm a burden to you, aren't you? I-if I leave, it means you don't have to look after me for my mother and Bob anymore?"

His face falls gradually for some reason as he drops his gaze to my mouth again. "Is that what you think?" he murmurs, his voice barely audible with some unknown emotion. "You think I think you're a burden?"

"Well, don't you?" I snap. "Just let me leave. Please."

I see his throat muscles and Apple's apple move as he swallows, his eyes lingering on my mouth again. Something cold that feels like swallowing a shard of ice slivers down my stomach. Does he actually want to kiss me?

"You could _never_ be a burden to me." He's still staring at my mouth. _Why?_ _Because he wants me,_ a voice says inside my head. _He desires me, just like with how I thought he was hot at the start before finding out everything that's happened. He wants to spank me again- and just as I had suspected when he'd done it at the time, he was aroused and found it hot when he did it to me._ I shiver at that voice, ignoring it best as I can. "In fact, you are the opposite."

"W-what do you mean?"

To my relief, he finally lifts his eyes, meeting mine again. My shoulders sag as I hear him inhale through his mouth loudly. "If you don't want to live here, I have other places free that you could always live in?"

" _Othe_ r places?"

"Yes, I own quite a few places that I don't utilize very often. Real estate in Aspen, in... France. All around the world. Here in Seattle, even. I purchased and own a fully furnished, three-bedroom house just a twenty minutes drive away from here."

I realize what he's suggesting the instance he says it. He tries to sound so casual but the suggestion and real implication is there.

I don't know what to think, to be honest. All I can seem to do is stare up at him with wide, surprised wet eyes.

"You could always stay there if you like?" He continues, and then, as if knowing it would purposefully make the deal sweeter for me, "You wouldn't have to pay anything like rent or the utility bills. I'll take care of all of that."

"You'd actually let me live in one of the places you own, rent-free without even having to pay bills?" I ask, alarmed.

"I would. Besides, wouldn't you prefer that than to, say... living out on the street? A vulnerable seventeen year old girl hobbling around on the street with nowhere to go, her ankle sore and using crutches, making herself"- He pauses, licking his lips as he seemingly thinks his next words over carefully- "even more vulnerable to being attacked, robbed, or even... raped?"

I think he already knows my answer. He already knows that I'd much prefer to live safely in one of the houses he owns, safe with a roof above me providing shelter than out on the cold streets of Seattle any day of the week. He's just rubbing it all into my face; I can see as much by the way the corners of his mouth lifts into the ghost of a smile, his gray eyes lighting up with wry humor.

"I think you _already know_ which I prefer," I murmur shortly.

"So that's a yes?" He asks, as if he wants me to sing it out.

"Please," I whisper. "It's a yes. And thank you."

I know it's the answer he wants to hear when he nods once, the satisfaction plain in his eyes to see. "Good girl," he mutters, that same old thing he always does that grates on my nerves. "Good decision." He backs away from the stairs then pauses with a foot on the step, turning back to look up at me, shoving both hands deep into his trouser pockets. "I'll inform Taylor and then we can go there now. We can even get your things ready to take them with us."

I watch him as he briskly treads down the stairs to find Taylor, my eyes burning into the back of his head. I don't know what he'll want in return for letting me stay in one of the properties he owns, but all I know is that it's better than being here living inside his house where he's near.

All I'm really sure of now is that I can never forgive my mother for this. Not ever.

 **I finally got around to writing a new chapter. I promise I won't abandon this story as I want it to reach its conclusion too for you lovely readers who are interested. I hope this offers some answers- unpleasant ones as they may be. :) Would love to know your feelings as always. Thank you so much, all you amazing readers, you truly encourage me and I love your opinions on the story.**

 **I know some of you already guessed what happened as far as it went with Carla so well done. :) This Christian is probably more ruthless and darker (but hopefully redeemable by the end) than book Christian but it will have a happy ending and there's still more answers to come.**


	15. Chapter 15

_**Temptation Builds- chapter 15**_

It happens far quicker than I expect it to.

Christian calls Sawyer up to help gather my things, which really isn't much; Just my suitcase of clothes and other belongings I had initially brought for my stay here. But then Christian insists on bringing the laptop and some other toiletries to the house in case. He helps me maneuver the crutches into the backseat of the car while Taylor shoves my suitcase into the back, slamming it shut.

I still cannot get over what he said about my mother, but the drive offers me a well needed distraction. The traffic is busy while Jason Taylor expertly weaves out of it, taking different less crowded streets while Christian sits in the backseat with me.

As Taylor finally slows and we turn into a road that says Pine Street, Christian breaks the silence. "It's just up here on the left," he explains, and I turn in the seat eagerly, staring outside the window.

As the car rolls to a complete halt, the fully furnished, three-bedroom house Christian mentioned that he owns comes into view. I felt my heart stop in stock. It looks more like a family house or vacation spot on the outside. Pine trees line the carefully maintained yard, some golden yellow leaves dusting the path to the front door of the house. It's a white clapboard house, well-maintained despite him not living there. He must hire gardeners to maintain the yard while he's away. The roof is brown, the window frames lining the windows matching the brown in color. It looks like a beautiful, comfy family home.

"What do you think of it?" Christian asks softly, interrupting my quiet inspecting. I realize Taylor's already getting out of the car. He holds open my door before moving to the back of the car, grabbing my suitcase and belongings out.

"It's _really_ nice," I murmur breathlessly.

"Well, just wait until you see inside. It's even nicer." And I bet it is.

Placing a crutch carefully on the ground, I manage to support myself and balance out of the car without anyone's help. Christian comes around the car, offering his arm, holding it behind me as I start hopping and ambling my way up the path after Taylor who has already set my things on the step of the front door. He must have a key, because he opens the door, leaving it ajar for us.

"Why do you own so many properties?" I ask Christian as I glide up the steps one by one.

"Because I can," he simply says, then he steps forward, holding the door wider open fr me with his arm. Immediately I land on shiny hardwood floors. It's a narrow hallway that leads into other rooms.

Christian's right beside me as I reach the first opening, discovering it's a living room area. It's fully furnished with modern, expensive furniture. There's a leather couch with patterned red cushions on it, with a mahogany oak coffee table right next to it, the glass clean and shiny without an ounce of dust in sight. The hardwood floor theme continues as I step in a little, realizing it's a conjoined kitchen/living area.

The kitchen has a large stainless steel refrigerator and a long counter that acts as a divider for the living room.

"So this property belongs to you?" I ask, glancing back at him. I find him standing right near me, almost too close that it invades my personal bubble. He leans back slightly against the wall as if noticing it himself, giving me room.

"It does," he admits, something there in his voice I can't place. His grey eyes remain on the comfy looking leather couch. "It's one of the many I own in various locations." I turn my head, noticing a large flat screen TV sitting perched on a matching mahogany oak entertainment unit. Whoever was responsible for the furnishing did an amazing job. "What do you think of it?"

"It's beautiful," I whisper, whipping my face back to look at him again. I find him staring at me this time, something wary and cautious in his expression. He seems strangely nervous for some reason.

"I'll show you the other three rooms," he says after digesting my approval in, and I think me finding it beautiful relaxes him on some odd level. He doesn't look as tense and suddenly there's an air of huge relief in his eyes as he places his hand on my back, holding it while I spin around awkwardly on the crutches.

I still feel weird about him touching me but I try to push it aside. I'm sure he's only trying to be helpful anyway.

I find myself glad it's only one level. There's no stairs I would have to awkwardly step up with my sore ankle and the crutches to support me. There's a bedroom, just as beautifully furnished as the last, with a large mahogany bed head and luxurious colorful sheets. The next two rooms are bedrooms as well, which means this property is evidently made for a family and more than one person. I haven't seen a bedroom as yet though.

"The bathrooms are joined through each of the bedrooms," Christian explains, as if scarily reading my thoughts.

"Oh."

"There's a bath and shower. Toilet. Wardrobe. It's all well maintained."

"I've noticed. Everything about the house looks beautifully maintained." I limp back out towards the kitchen area, Christian following me close behind. Then I realize Taylor's standing there, obviously waiting for an instruction on what to do next. My suitcase of belongings and the laptop are on the floor near him.

"Where shall I put your things, ma'am?" he asks politely.

"Oh, please no," I mutter, embarrassed. I wouldn't expect him to have to sort through my private things as well. "Thank you, but I can really sort that all out onto my own later."

He nods once, his eyes trailing to where Christian is standing behind me questioningly.

"Yes, we're good for now, Taylor," Christian says, something meaningful and pointed in his tone. "Please sit in the car and I'll be with you in a second."

"Yes, sir." With one last look between us, Taylor leaves out the front door while carefully stepping around the laptop. He shuts the front door quietly behind him.

"So you'll let me live here?" I ask slowly, needing to be certain as my eyes roam around the impressive living room again.

"I will. As I said, Anastasia, living here is better than you living rough out on the streets of Seattle."

"And you really meant what you said?" I turn to look at him nervously, eyeing him carefully for any sign he might have been lying. All I can see there is still that relief glittering in his grey eyes as he stares back at me. "About me not having to pay rent or bills?"

"Yes," he confirms with a nod, his lips parting as he runs both hands down the sides of his suit jacket, as if his hands are sweaty. "I truly meant what I said earlier, Anastasia. You won't have to worry about paying the bills or rent, any of that. As I said, I have it completely covered."

Even although he seems sincere, I still find it difficult to believe him. Or well, maybe not so difficult but... I am reluctant to. Him offering me to live here in such a beautiful place, then to top it all off, offering to pay the bills and rent... It's so generous, so overwhelming that he would actually do such a thing freely.

"You wouldn't mind doing that though?" I ask apprehensively. "You really wouldn't mind paying all the bills?"

"Yes, as I said, I'm happy to." I catch a slight tinge of exasperation in his tone as he nods again, his tongue darting out to lick the corner of his mouth. "As I said earlier as well, you could never be a burden to me. I'm happy to. Really."

How I've treated him these couple of weeks, so horribly, it rains over me. I've been rather rude and mean. Selfish and childish even, and clearly, like he's said, he does actually care for me and my well being. I don't understand it but I realize it now. He does actually care, and obviously me being revolting to him won't change a thing otherwise.

"Although it doesn't come without it's set of rules and conditions, of course," Christian suddenly adds beneath his breath, and just like that, I immediately tense.

"On what conditions?" I ask curious.

He stiffens himself, wary almost of even my reaction to them. He must know well by now how I take things, like his stupid curfew rules for instance. "Well, I have a few." Of course he would have some. "Firstly the rules from at the house still stand. Just because you'll be living here-" he gestures with his chin around the house- "that won't change."

"Which rules exactly?"

"The curfew rules, for example. No staying out later than nine thirty at night."

Oh, great. I hate his curfews but somehow it feels easier to obey it if I'm going to be living alone. "Am I allowed to have people over? Like that girl Kate that I met for instance?"

"Yes, I... _suppose_ you can." He reaches up with his hand, rubbing his fingertips slowly over his forehead as he stares at me, his expression thoughtful, contemplative. " _Girl friends_ seem acceptable like that Kate girl."

'Girl' friends. I catch the keyword clearly. "And male friends like that.. that boy Jose that I met as well?" I ask, even although I think I already have an idea what his answer is. "I can't have him over as well?"

After rubbing his forehead in a circular motion a few times, he stops, running his fingers through his hair instead. "I don't think so," he finally answers, and I notice something new come into his eyes; Something dark. That sour look is there as I hear him swallow audibly- the one earlier, but I know it isn't because he feels ashamed he's said something wrong. I feel like it's the thought- the idea of me inviting guys over here, like Jose. It bothers him in an unexpected way. "Seeing as you'll be here- mostly alone without supervision- I don't... think it would be wise to allow you to have male friends over."

"Not _even_ if he's just a friend?" I demand, but I try to stifle my outrage down.

"I don't like the idea of that, _even if_ he is a friend as you say. So that's a no to male friends over." Before I can manage to ask more, he says in an abruptly more brighter tone, "And _also_ , I have a new rule to propose to you."

"A _new_ rule?"

"Yes, a new rule." I wait cautiously for him to expand on the rule while leaning on both crutches carefully. "It's quite a... simple rule, really. A rule that, once a week on a night of your choosing, you'll allow me to take you out."

Take me out? Oh. That's unexpected. "Take me out to do what?"

"To do anything," he says with a shrug. I think I see the ghost of a smile play along his mouth as he looks over the beautifully furnished living room with his gray eyes again. "Dinner, movies. Skating." He rubs a forefinger against his lower lip as he keeps his eyes on anything else but mine. "Anything you can think of."

It does not escape me that his new supposed 'rule'- as he puts it- sounds also like a date. Don't couples do things like skating, dinner, and movies together when they're in a relationship? Why the hell would he make a rule like this up for?

When he finally turns his head to look at me, I wonder if Christian notices the way my mouth is opening and closing foolishly, I'm that startled.

"But... why?" I demand, confused. "Why would you even want to... to do stuff like that with me? Why make a... a rule out of it?"

"Also," he continues in a louder voice, ignoring my question, "as another last final rule, seeing as what we... talked about earlier, I think it would important that you..." He hesitates, biting down on his lip, "That you start thinking of applying for colleges or Washington State University."

"But I told you that-"

"-Yes," he interrupts me with a sharp exhale, "and I believe I told you that you'd be living in Seattle for far longer than six months. You _saw_ that email, Anastasia. You saw how I managed to pull some strings." His voice goes gentler, while I get the suspicion that he's lecturing me. "I think that since you are going to be here, you should attend the colleges here as well."

Ignoring him, I start shuffling towards the leather couch with my crutches. Once I manage to get in between the coffee table, I sink down into it while resting my sore foot on the other, propping it up. I glance up to find Christian staring; He must have been watching me while I sat the whole entire time.

"So do we have a deal?" he asks, shoving one hand inside his trouser pocket. He kicks off the wall and slowly start approaching the couch, moving around it. Then he sits beside me, sending me sinking deeper into the leather. "On everything? The conditions and the rules for you staying here?"

The same curfew as in his penthouse. The 'no boys' over rule. The 'dates' on a night of my choosing once a week. Accepting to stay and start college in Washington, Seattle. I suppose these are little things if I get to live here on one of the properties he brought rent and bill free.

"Okay," I give in. "We have a deal, Christian."

* * *

Everything goes smoothly the first few nights of staying at the house in Pine Street. I quickly find I actually prefer living alone without anyone else around. I can read in peace. Watch anything I want. Cook dinner for myself anytime I want.

But it's the third day in when I finally notice him sitting outside, in a car, the tinted window half rolled down because it's been quite a warm day. When I open the blinds in the bedroom up after sleeping in, its then that I notice him for the first time.

The window is low enough that I can faintly make out their face and I think I know who it is, that person sitting across the road from the property in the black BMW with tinted windows.

Sawyer, the guy from Christian's security team. Outside the property he allowed me to live in now, rent free, bill free. Obviously Christian has been asking him to keep an eye on me- like he had that time when I went out with Kate and Jose for coffee.

I watch him through the blinds, trying to make out his face carefully while clasping my arms over my exposed belly in my midriff top nervously. I see the outline of his head move up towards the window, like he's peering up into the direction of the bedroom where I'm standing. Then slowly, he has the nerve to get out of the car. Fully dressed in a tailored light blue suit and tie, he reaches into his pocket, then I see he's holding a phone.

He then holds the phone up to his ear and I slowly back away, leaning backwards on my crutches. He's informing Christian of the time I woke. I just know he is. But why? Why the hell is Christian breaching my privacy like this? What-he gets this Sawyer guy to report everything I'm doing? Am I truly that interesting to him?

* * *

After so many days of complete silence with just simmering rage felt within at Christian having this Sawyer watch me around the clock, it comes as a welcome relief when the doorbell rings. I know exactly who it is.

Last night, I'd texting Kate, asking her to come over. I hadn't mentioned anything about Jose being a problem coming over so I hope she knows I just invited her and her alone.

It takes me a while to get to the door, but once I open it, to my relief she's there, still waiting.

"Hey girl," she says happily, and she leans in, hugging. It's then that I see him over her shoulder. Jose. She did invite him after all. "Hope you don't mind if Jose tags along," she adds once we separate, leaning back to look at him.

"No, it..." Christian had seemed rather strict about the 'no male friends' rule. But Jose's already here and it's impolite to kick him out now. "No, it's fine. Hey, Jose."

"Hey, Ana. Good to see you again." He smiles a bright white smile, leaning in to hug me carefully as well. Our hug is briefer than the one Kate and I shared. As he pulls back, his face falls at the fact that my sprained ankle is still bandaged. "Ouch, how's the ankle healing?"

"It's getting there slowly, Jose. It doesn't hurt as much when I move it as it did the past few days." I step aside, moving up against the door. "Please, come in. Look around."

"Wow," I hear Kate exclaim from somewhere in one of the bedrooms. "Holy shit, Ana. This is a neat looking pad, huh? Look at all the beautiful furniture!"

As I go to shut the door, I look out, noticing that same old car parked as it usually is across the road. Sawyer the security guy is still there, patrolling. I wonder what he'll think of me breaking Christian's little 'no male friends' rule accidentally?

Well, tough. It isn't like I have any choice. Besides I am so not kicking Jose out. It's rude!

Closing the door shut, I shuffle down the hall, trying to find both of them as they look around. Everything seems to go well. We all squeeze onto the nice leather couch while Kate heads into the kitchen to make herself and Jose a cup of coffee. She's only just opened the refrigerator to grab the soy milk to use when I hear a loud banging noise on the front door.

Someone's knocking and by the sound of how loud and fast the knocks were, it would seem its urgent, whatever they want.

Both Jose and Kate look at me at the sound.

"Sorry. Are you expecting company?" Kate asks softly.

"Um, no. Not any that I know of." Another banging noise comes from the front door, louder this time.

"Want me to go answer it for you seeing as your comfortable?" Jose asks me uncertainly.

"Oh, no thanks, Jose. I think I'll be fine." Still, he actually helps lift me up off the sofa and holds the crutches ready for me to slip them beneath my arm pits. I thank him with a grateful smile while starting to hop towards the front door. He follows me, rushing forward to pull the front door open for me.

 _He_ comes immediately into view while straightening out his striped blue-and-grey suit with his hands, his clear blue eyes darting between me and Jose, who is standing behind me quietly. Sawyer the security guy.

"Uh, Miss Steele, ma'am," he greets, his eyes moving to Jose again. His jaw clenches, a sense of urgency and seriousness coming across his face. "Sir, I've been instructed to inform you that you must leave the premises. _Immediately_."

 _Instructed to leave the premises?_

I hear Jose gasp and make a noise in a mixture of both confusion and surprise. Then I notice him start to move around my side to step out the door glumly. I hold him back with my arm quickly.

"Wait, Jose," I plead quietly. Then I glance at Sawyer again, who is still peering at Jose expectantly. "Did _he_ put you up to this? _Christian_?"

"Ma'am, I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to answer that. But please, sir, you need to come out of the house-"

"-Did he order you to spy on me?" I demand, finally letting Jose go. He pushes past me, then edges past Sawyer, stepping down the steps slowly. I stare into Sawyer's luminescent clear blue eyes as he stares back at me, his expression artfully giving nothing away. "Christian? Did he order you to sit in the car out there across the road to keep tabs on me every single hour of the day? Do you have to report to him every single movement I make inside the house? When I wake and first open the curtains? When I... I have visitors?"

I just cannot believe him! Sending Sawyer to keep surveillance on me!

"Ma'am, as I just said before, I'm not at liberty to answer that," Sawyer says again firmly, much to my frustration. Why can't he just tell me what I already know?

Nodding once at me with a faint dimpled smile, he turns, climbing down the stairs briskly. It's obvious his work is done here; His job was obviously, as per Christian's request, remove Jose from the house.

I'm so mad, I'm shaking. _How dare he! Embarrassing me like that by kicking Jose out when I'm just trying to make new friends! How is there anything wrong with having male friends? And the nerve he has to set his security guy on me too!_

The idea forms in my head. _Call him. I know I have his number somewhere!_

Stalking back inside the house furiously, I search my phone. Kate whirls around while in the kitchen, holding the two coffees for her and Jose. She stares at me in confusion.

"Uh, hey. What's up? Where's Jose gone?"

"He _kicked him_ out, the bastard," I mutter angrily, still searching.

"Okay, um... _who_ kicked Jose out? And _why_?"

Finally, I find it on the coffee table where I'd left it earlier.

"What's Jose done?" Kate asks out loud in confusion.

"That's the thing, Kate. He hasn't done _anything_." I thumb through my contacts, finding his number in the alphabetical C column. "Excuse me, I'm just going to go into the other room and call him."

"Um. Okay?" I know she's really confused but I can't explain right now. Not while I'm so enraged and mortified the way I am.

Storming into the bedroom where I sleep in as fast as is humanly possible with a pair of crutches, I shut the door gently while pressing the call button. I inhale deeply as I wait for him to answer, still trembling. And then, at last, he answers.

"Anastasia, how are you settling in so far?" He has the audacity to sound so calm, so normal as if he hasn't done anything. _How dare he!_

There are so many things I want to say at once, but I try to calm myself down while breathing deeply. Then I settle on: "Why are you having your security guy Sawyer spying on me again like you had at the coffee shop that time?"

I fall down onto the bed while placing the crutches on the floor beside me as I wait.

"I wouldn't say Sawyer's 'spying', Anastasia." There he goes again with that neutral, composed voice. "He's simply keeping surveillance on what's mine."

 _Keeping surveillance on what's his! And does he think I fall into the category of what's 'his'? Surely not!_

"I'm not yours, Christian," I mutter while trying to keep my voice low. "This house, maybe, but me? No!"

"Correction: the property is mine, Anastasia, not you. Sawyer is keeping surveillance on my property, ensuring there is no theft and no trespassing, that's all."

"But that isn't true, is it?" I breathe out shakily. "Clearly that includes me as well. After all, he just kicked Jose out of the house just because he turned up with Kate to hang out with me!"

"Well, it's like I told you when you agreed to the conditions." There's the tiniest bit of condescension in his voice that sends my face throbbing with anger. "You know fair well from living with me at the penthouse that I am a stickler for rules, Anastasia. We'd agreed to this."

"It was _so embarrassing_ the way he basically just demanded Jose leave like that!"

"Well, you agreed on this. Under no uncertain terms were male friends allowed to enter the house. Sawyer was simply operating under instruction."

"I am virtually a grown up, Christian," I say, enunciating each word angrily. "You have no right! It's not fair to make a rule like that where I can't have male friends! It's stupid!"

"Well, it may be stupid to you, Anastasia, but I happen to feel its extremely smart and wise," he counters, his voice dropping. I think he's began to get angry as well; It sounds like he's trying to reign in lifting his voice. "I know how boys operate nowadays. How? Because _I was_ one. You think they want to be your friend? No, they don't want that. They just want to use you, play on your vulnerability, and then fuck you!"

I gape at his words. "But I'm _talking about_ Jose here and the fact that you had Sawyer kick him out! Jose is a _good_ guy, Christian! And he _came along_ with Kate!"

"Well, you should be thanking me," he murmurs. "Boys always have an ulterior motive other than just to be your friend. You think this Jose boy wants to be your friend? No, he doesn't! He just wants to fuck you! You should be thanking me- I'm both saving and protecting your virtue here!"

 _Saving and protecting my virtue? What the hell?_ "Having your security guy Sawyer outside the house spying on me and monitoring my every move to report it to you was not part of the conditions I agreed to, Christian! I deserve privacy!"

He sighs loudly, sending the phone crackling in my ear. "Anastasia, if you were capable of seeing it my way, you'd see that I'm doing it out of the own goodness of my heart, that I'm doing it to protect you." _Protect me? By kicking Jose out-Jose that is in no way a threat? "_ You often..." He hesitates, his breathing loud. "You often ask me why it is that I care about you so much. The answer to that is that your..." He stops, inhaling in deeply. Like he's about to express something like a confession, something that makes him feel vulnerable. "It may be hard for you to believe, Anastasia, but your... your precious to me."

I'm precious to him? Why? How?

"Your like a... a pricey asset to me. Something unique, something..." He pauses again, "Something unrivaled, something inimitable to me. Frankly, I felt this very same way about you when I first came across you at the barbecue at Carla and Robert's that day."

If he's trying to make speechless enough that I would forget all my anger and all my hostility right now over him setting his security man onto me, it's working.

"Just please, send Sawyer to stop spying on me. I don't appreciate it," I mutter mulishly, then I hang up, forcing myself to end the call.

I know that poor Kate's probably outside in the living room, confused out of her mind as to why Jose's been kicked out. I should go out and explain to her what's happened. But all I can seem to think of is Christian's confession to me, on how precious I am to him, how much of a pricey asset. What does he mean? And why- how?- could he think of me in that way?


	16. Chapter 16

_**Hey guys, so so sorry for taking such a while to update. I've been preoccupied with life and work and the holidays. I hope you all had a great New Years and Christmas, though I'm sorry this well-wishing finds you late. Hoping this chapter gives a little answer (though not sure what you'll think!)**_

 _ **Temptation Builds- chapter 16**_

After eating breakfast, I head into the bedroom, grabbing some fresh clothes and underwear. Then I head into the bathroom, not before checking to make sure the front door of the house is still properly locked before I do so.

So far, living alone in Christian's Pine Street house, I've found it rather peaceful and enjoyable. Weirdly enough, I don't actually feel as lonely as I thought I would. Kate drops by every now and then, my new friend, though she's careful not to have Jose tag along with her after that awkward incident that happened roughly three days ago now. Also, being alone... especially without Christian's irritating and unnerving presence, it has been a relief. I find I can actually relax properly now and think properly. My mind seems somehow saner than it was before.

Stripping off my clothes, I clamber into the shower and shut the door behind me, anxious to be below its hot, cleansing spray. The stream cascades over my naked skin, from head to toe as I hold my chin back, carefully brushing through my long brown hair with my fingers before submerging it under it, getting it soaking.

As much as I hate to do it, I've tried to properly obey some of Christian's requests, no matter how ridiculous I find them. Like the 9.30 curfew rule and the 'no boy's' rule. Well, with the no boys rule I sort of have no choice. Seeing as he literally had Sawyer kick Jose out - which was _extremely_ embarrassing- I want no repeats of that happening so for the remainder of the time that I'll be here.

I suppose being alone has given me some time to think it all through more coherently. In some ways, I am extremely, properly grateful now for all that Christian has done for me. Letting me stay here, rent-free, while he pays the bills for me, the groceries, literally everything for me. That's extremely kind of him, and I can appreciate that now that I have a better perspective on everything.

I just frankly still don't understand many things- and that frustration just only serves to build and build with higher, simmering intensity. He hasn't properly explained things. Like my Mom, for instance. Like... why he cares so much about me, how he wants me to 'like' him so much. That new rule he's flung onto me, too; That other condition for staying here. He says, on a night of my choosing, I have to go out with him to do something like dinner, or going to a movie. Skating, even. Anything.

Turning my back, I reach behind me with both hands blindly for the shampoo. I just don't get it. I don't understand what he expects from me. Why make it some 'rule' to at least have one night where he does something with me? And he does he mean like... what? As a date? Is he into me in 'that' way or something?

It is just all so confusing and I'm still not entirely sure of his intentions right now.

Once I'm thoroughly clean and I've rinsed all the hair product out of my hair, I turn off the shower, opening the door to reach for one of the clean, soft towels hanging neatly on the rack.

Having to attend college here in Seattle when I wanted to initially stay in Georgia where I lived with my Mom...

I suppose it wouldn't be too bad, so long as hopefully I can attend at where Kate and Jose are going as well. At least that way I would actually have some company there, some people I actually know quite well and trust. I wouldn't be completely alone then.

Kate is literally the one thing right now that is keeping me from losing my mind; The fact that we've become friends rather quickly and comfortably. If it wasn't for her, I think I'd feel completely hopeless and lost right now. Well, perhaps maybe even more lost and hopeless than I already basically feel at the moment.

My slow pattings of myself dry are disrupted when I think I hear a weird noise. I pause from rubbing my stomach dry, listening carefully. There's definitely movement outside coming from the kitchen area; I am definitely not imagining it. What the hell? I think someone's just entered through the front door- but I locked it up securely while showering? How? Who has another key?

Swallowing nervously, I quickly bend down, slathering into my fresh pair of underwear, then get dressed just as quickly in the clothes I've picked out for the day. My comfortable Rolling Stones crop top that cuts off at the belly button and my baggy, loose harem pants.

Who the hell has a key to access the house? Why would someone just feel free to let themselves in when I could be basically doing anything? I could be full-blown naked for all they care!

Breathing in deeply to calm my nerves, I grab my brush, combing out the wet stands of my hair briskly. Then I fold up the damp towel and toss it in the laundry basket, too busy listening to more creepy sounds of someone allowing themselves free entrance into the house, making themselves comfortable. Isn't this like an invasion of my property? My privacy? It definitely feels that way.

Taking in another deep breath, I muster the courage to unlock and slowly open the bathroom door. Steam from my hot shower billows out of the room. And then... I hear it. Oh. What the hell?

The kettle starts going loudly in the kitchen. Someone must have turned on the kettle to make themselves a hot drink. But who? And what the hell? Sawyer? Does Sawyer- seeing as he's practically stalking me in his car outside the house- does he have a spare copy of the house keys to get in? Did Christian give him permission to just wander into the house to make a coffee whenever he feels like it?

Bracing myself, I pad barefooted towards the kitchen, ready to give him a piece of my mind as he clutters loudly about with finding mugs. I stride towards the kitchen, hair still damp, clinging to my Stones crop top. And then...

 _Oh. Christian_ suddenly comes into view, dressed in his business suit and tie as he fusses around with making coffee. What the hell does he think he is playing at- just unlocking the front door and waltzing straight on in here? _What a way to creep the hell out of me!_

"Christian?" I call out nervously, making my presence known. He simply turns to look at me from where I called out to him, in the kitchen entryway. There's nothing apologetic or shameful in his expression at all. It's as if he believes he has every right to just let himself into the house. "What... what are you doing here?" I throw a glance at the clock on the wall behind him. It's 9.45 in the morning. "Shouldn't you, um, be at work right now?"

"I called early and advised my assistant that I was going to be late. I thought I'd call around and see how you are settling in." That familiar spark of frustration hits me as he turns back to the kettle as it automatically switches off, the water finished boiling. He goes on making himself a coffee as though I'm not there, as though I have no right to even question why he's here in the first place!

"You have a spare key then?" I murmur, though the answer is already obvious to that question. Of course he clearly does have one. How else did he let himself in?

"I do, Anastasia. I assumed you wouldn't mind if I came in here and helped myself?"

 _Well, I do mind,_ I want to retort loudly, only I don't. I grit my teeth instead. "You couldn't have let me know in advance that you were planning to come around then? I was just in the shower a couple of minutes ago, and then I heard someone moving around inside the house and the front door open." I guess I'm maybe angling for an apology even although it's obvious I probably won't be getting it. He reaches over to the fridge, opening it, and pulls out the soy milk. "You scared the crap out of me, Christian! I had no idea who came in here just then!"

"Well, _now_ you know," he murmurs with a brisk shrug. There, that's it. That's all he's got to say on the matter. He is so infuriating.

I can do nothing else but stare blankly at him as he puts the milk back in the fridge, then as he stirs his coffee. God, can he not see my point at all?

"I'm not comfortable by this at all, Christian," I point out, angered by the fact that I even have to tell him. "I'm comfortable about you coming in here without at least knocking and warning me first. You could have at least told me you had a spare key so I wouldn't have panicked and thought some stranger was breaking in here to murder me!"

"I just wanted to come by and make sure you were settling in all right." Yes, and I get that. But still no apology from him.

"Well, I'm settling in fine. I just would have preferred you to knock on the door first before you came in here."

He sighs loudly as he leans back against the sink, holding the mug up to his face. Clearly I am wasting my time waiting for an apology from him. "Your ankle is better?"

"Yes, it is, thank god." My ankle is still a little bruised and sore, but fortunately now, it's recovered nicely. I can now move again. Having mobility is something I will not take for granted ever again. "I no longer need the crutches anymore, which is great."

"Good." He nods once, licking his lips, appearing genuinely satisfied. "And have you had any trouble finding anything?" he asks, then he takes a sip of his drink.

"No, I think I've found pretty much everything I need. All the towels, the... plates."

"Have you started looking online and figured out what college you wish to attend yet? Or what classes you wish to take?"

"Not yet. I just... I'll probably do that later." When he's gone and I'm alone. Despite knowing now that it was only him and not some deranged intruder entering the house, I still can't help the nerves I feel, the rapid racing of my heart. It's really shook me. "I just... while I'm so grateful that you are allowing me to stay here, I... I'm not comfortable," I mutter again nervously, my voice breathy.

Christian seems to consider me thoughtfully with his gray eyes as he takes another slow sip of his coffee. I notice his eyes drop briefly to my exposed belly before they return and flicker to my face again. _Now what? He's going to dare comment on my choice of clothes again?_

"Right. So you aren't comfortable with me entering in here with the spare key," he says after swallowing, something there glinting oddly in his eyes, "And yet... you're comfortable with strangers on the outside world looking at your belly button?"

 _What?_ I groan inwardly as I glance down at my exposed belly in my Stones crop top myself. Then I bring up my arms, covering myself over with them anxiously. _Where does he even get off saying that? How is that even relevant to what I'm saying here?_

"God, it's _just_ a belly-button, Christian? I don't see how what I'm wearing has anything to do with this?"

"Well, you have plenty of other clothes that you could always choose to wear." His voice drops low, chastising even. "Ones that don't have to show the world your belly-button or your stomach, Anastasia."

I almost laugh out loud in exasperation at his comment. _What the hell? So now he has the audacity yet again to comment on my clothing choices? How is it any of his business?_

"Why does it bother you so much?" I murmur, failing instantly at keeping my voice under control. My irritation slips through with the words. "Does it truly _affect you that much_ , what I choose to wear? It affects your day, the fact that I'm choosing to wear a top that shows off some skin on my belly? It really bothers you that much, Christian?"

He doesn't bother answering my question, he only resumes staring at me with something there in his gray eyes. I sense a tension there almost. And I'm sure I'm definitely not imagining it, but I think I spot his hand that is holding the mug of his coffee tremble and shake a little. I'm sure I'm not imagining it.

It's obvious it does bother him that much otherwise he wouldn't bother pointing it out like he has. Why the hell would he even care? It's my choice, my body. Can't I wear what I want to wear? Jesus!

"So... regarding your conditions for me living here," I begin, clearing my throat huskily to get that irritated edge off. "There's the 9.30 curfew where I'm not allowed to be out any later than that. The no boys allowed."

He looks away from me for a moment, down into his cup as he brings up his other hand. He runs his fingers through his hair slowly. "Yes, that's right." He sounds as though he's trying to calm down and control his anger as well; His voice sounds quieter, gentler now. "Those are the conditions, Anastasia, for you living here."

"Yes, well. I'm trying to be more respectful of them now." Christian's eyes dart back up to me, his lips parting slightly. It's true though, and I hope he knows I'm being sincere. I've definitely had a good few days to think about it. "These past few days, living here, being alone... having peace and quiet has helped to clear my mind a little," I explain as assuredly as possible. "I'm trying to follow your conditions more now. These past few days, I've made sure I've been here before the 9.30 curfew." I'm not sure why I'm pointing that out. It isn't like I want brownie points or anything. Besides, I'm sure he already knows that himself. He points out as much next.

"Yes, I've noticed that you have." He nods once, his voice pleased. "Sawyer has kept me filled in. He's informed me that lately you've been home straight before 9.30."

"And Jose or any other guy hasn't came around since that day when you had Sawyer kick him out of the house onto the street."

"Yes, Sawyer informed me of that as well." He takes another sip of his coffee, then he must be done with it or has finished it, because he reaches over, setting the mug gently onto the sink. "There still is that other condition or... rule that we talked about however."

"What?" As soon as the word comes out of my mouth, I remember it. Oh, that other rule, probably the strangest one that I still can't make any sense out of. The condition for, on one night of my choosing, we go out together. Dinner, or movie, or skating even. I still can't fathom why he would bother. "Oh, right," I murmur, keeping my eyes on nothing else but him as he pushes away from the kitchen sink. He moves slowly, casually, around the kitchen bench, eyeing everything. "Did you have a night in particular in mind? Or... something that you want to do?" I'm not even entirely sure I wish to do anything with him.

I wait for his answer as he strolls slowly towards the entryway where I'm standing, one hand deep in his trouser pocket. The other, he brings up to stroke his long forefinger around his bottom lip thoughtfully. "How about tonight?" he asks, finally turning his head my way.

How he stops to stand right in front of me, his mere unexpected presence in the kitchen and even in this house, it's anxiety-inducing.

"Tonight? To do what exactly?"

"Hmm. Ice-skating?" I haven't even gone ice-skating since I was around six years old and honestly, I am not in an ice-skating mood. He makes it sound as though it's my choice, my decision. It feels anything but that, because it's one of his conditions for living here. He's practically forced me into it. "I know a place where they have an in-door ice-skating rink. I have a feeling you'll enjoy it." I'll enjoy ice-skating with him? Extremely doubtful.

"Fine." I shrug indifferently, swallowing. "Tonight we'll go ice-skating then."

"I'll come by with Taylor to pick you up from here at, say, around... 5.30?"

"Okay. Fine." I don't realize how tense I'm holding myself until he steps back. With some distance, my body seems to immediately loosen, my shoulders relaxing for their rigid posture.

I think he's getting ready to leave and it's a relief within itself. I force myself to slowly follow behind him towards the front door, seeing him out. He opens the front door and I lean against it with the side of my hip as he steps out onto the doorstep. Behind his shoulder, I spot Sawyer's car still sitting there. He's still clearly doing his 'surveillance' because despite what I requested when I had rang Christian, outraged over Sawyer kicking Jose out, he hadn't told Sawyer to call off the patrolling.

"You never called him off like I told you to when I called you," I point out stiffly, unable to help it.

Christian turns back to look at me, both hands deep inside the trouser pockets on his suit. "I didn't," he simply says with a shrug. 'Deal with it,' his voice says. 'It is what it is'. No sorry or guilt whatsoever.

"Why is he even watching the house, Christian? Why is it even necessary for him to?"

"I already told you that on the night that you called, Anastasia. He's simply here to keep an eye on the property and make sure not only you- but _it_ \- is safe."

"And also to spy on me and inform you of whenever I break one of your little rules," I murmur sarcastically under my breath. "He's here to keep an eye on the property but it's mostly to make sure I adhere by your rules. Don't think I can't tell what it really is, Christian."

Surprising me, he actually laughs at that. He laughs freely, loudly, as if I've just said a really good and charming joke. It makes my stomach twist at how different he looks when he smiles, at how... twisted the whole thing is, to laugh at the fact he has some security guy stalking me day and night. "See you at 5.30," he mutters once his little outburst of laughter is finished with, but I can tell he's finding it hard not to smile. "Wear something warm and most definitely not something that shows off your belly-button."

I don't bother standing there, waiting for him to properly leave. Instead, I move back away from the door a few inches, slam it shut, and lock it up securely again, my head a fast-paced whirl. _The thought that he can easily let himself in whenever he wants to... that he has a spare key..._

* * *

As the time gets gradually closer and closer to 5.30 and I get changed into the warmest layer of clothes I own, my nerves and doubts start to settle in. _Really, what am I doing? Why am I actually agreeing to this?_

I don't like him, handsome or rich as he may be. Well, really, while I may be grateful for what he's done and how he seems to apparently care for me, I just... I'm not entirely sure _what I'm_ doing. Or what _he's_ doing, even.

He still hasn't answered my questions regarding my Mom, and yet he wants us to go out one night a week, faking being friends while I have to act and pretend that all of this isn't both frustrating me and confusing the hell out of me. All I want is to know where my Mom is, if she's even okay and yet, here I am, getting ready to go out ice-skating with him like we're a bunch of kids? Surely he has to know I have no interests truly at all in any single part of this?

A knock comes from the front door just as the clock hits 5.25. If it's actually him, he's five minutes early. At least he's actually knocking this time instead of rudely letting himself in though.

Breathing in deeply, I head towards the front door, opening it nervously. And there, he is. At the sight of me, a weird broad grin spreads across Christian's face, one that makes me feel both anxious and taken off-guard. _Why does he smile like he is so over-the-moon to see me? What the hell can he expect from me?_

"Good girl," he murmurs softly as his gray eyes take in the thick jacket I'm wearing, as well as my jeans and shoes. There's no skin in sight, no belly. "Are you ready to go?"

"Um, yeah, I am," I say, turning back to look the door up to the house securely with the house key.

He walks with me down the steps towards the car that is waiting for us, and I notice he rushes forward to hold the door to the backseat open for me. As I turn around and slip in, I can't help noticing what he's wearing himself as he shuts the door on me and strolls around to the other side of the car opposite me to get into the backseat with me.

He's wearing jeans and is multi-layered in a light blue sweater with a leather jacket thrown on top of it, unzipped. My doubts and nerves sink in again as he opens the door and drops into the seat next to me, the both of us seated together in the backseat. Suddenly I find myself wishing I could shrink, that I could somehow make myself smaller in size so that we weren't sitting so close and that there was more space between us.

"We're ready now, Taylor," Christian informs Jason Taylor, who starts the car up at once.

I'm really not sure how I am going to get through this. My body is tense, my shoulders stiff in the backseat with him. It's impossible to keep my mind off any of this, impossible not to stress. I have no idea what he expects to come out of this at all. All I know is that honestly, I wish I were anywhere but here, in the backseat with him, playing friendly when he irritates me and frustrates me so much with the things he is obviously keeping secret from me.

" _So_ ," I murmur breathlessly to break the horrid silence between us as Taylor starts to drive us to our destination. I can only pray tonight goes quickly.

"So, Anastasia?" I let my eyes flit to where he is briefly, finding him already staring right at me, his head cocked to the side.

My mind searches desperately for something to say. "I haven't been ice-skating since I was six," I settle on blandly, turning my face away, breaking eye-contact. "When was the last time you have?"

"It's been a while for me myself," he admits, a bizarre cheerful edge to his voice. He's so happy over forcing me to do this with him; I can tell. "I think I was probably the same age as you since I've last went ice-skating, Anastasia. But don't worry." His tone catches my attention and I allow myself to peek over at him in the seat again, discovering his eyes are still on my face, bright and searching. He probably hasn't even looked away. It's an unsettling thought. "We'll go slow together," he finishes, like it's reassuring to me to hear him say that. "I won't let you fall. Your safe with me."

 _I'm safe with him? Funny. I really don't feel it._

I force a pitiful smile on my lips as I glance outside the window again, peering anywhere but at him. It's starting to get dark outside. There's still quite a lot of people out at this time. But then it happens, my heart plummets, and it interferes momentarily with my concentration. Whether by accident or not, Christian's palm and fingers brush against my knuckles for the briefest second, and then that's it. Either he did it on purpose or maybe he didn't, and he pulled away immediately. I _don't know what_ to think.

"I'm glad that your ankle is a lot better now," Christian says, and I shift uncomfortably in the seat under his tone. I know he's still staring at me. I can just tell he is, without even needing to look his way.

"Me, too. It feels a lot better."

"Then this can be something celebratory to commemorate you feeling better. A... celebratory ice-skate."

"Sure, if you say so, but like I said, I haven't ice-skated before, only once when I was a little girl. I have a feeling I'll slip right over onto the ice."

"Well, like _I_ said, I'll keep you safe, Anastasia. I won't let you fall." I say nothing at his statement, unsure to believe him or not. After all, he lied about that supposed danger coming after my Mom and me. Why should I be so eager to believe him, even on something like this?

I can only be happy when Jason Taylor finally pulls the car up at the front of the building where the ice-skating rink is situated. Christian climbs out first, then comes around to hold the door open for me. Looking at the building, you wouldn't think its where an inbuilt ice-rink is. The building looks completely normal and rather small. I realize appearances are misleading once Christian holds the door open for me and I step inside.

Immediately, a moist, cool air hits your skin the instance you step in. There's a caged, carpeted area where people can get food and drinks. Then through the cage, is where the ice rink in. I wander over to look through the caged area as Christian greets the person working in the reception area to get our skates. The ice-rink is roughly fifty meters long, like a baseball field only instead of grass, there's ice. A group of young kids are already skating around on the ice, a mother holding her young daughter's hand in a supportive manner as they glide slowly together.

"They're just getting our skates," Christian tells me suddenly from behind me. I turn back to look at him, having no idea he was even back with me in the first place. I still can't get rid of my nerves. "I already told them your size. Your a size 8, right?"

My stomach does a little spin at his words. _He knows the size of my shoes even? How? How can he even know something like that?_

"Um, yes, that's correct. I'm a size 8. How did you know that, Christian?"

Unfortunately I don't get any explanation. A woman that presumably he spoke to about the shoes approaches us with four black skating shoes, smiling kindly. I'm taken aback when I grab the size 8 shoes from her. They're so heavy, the blade shiny and smooth on the bottom of the soles.

"You can go in through the gate and take off your shoes near the bench," the woman says, staring at Christian. "Your other shoes should be safe in there."

"Thank you," Christian mutters with a nod, then he shows me the way through towards the rink and the benches, holding the gate open for me.

Even closer to the rink and the benches, it grows even more colder and frigid in the room. The ground is slightly wet. I still cannot believe I'm actually here right now, that I'm actually daring to go ice-skating _with him_ , of all people.

We find a spot on the bench and start taking off our shoes. It takes me a while to unlace the skates laces individually, but when I glance over at Christian who is sitting right beside me at the bench, I see that he's already got one of his skates on. He works fast, unlacing the skates with apparent ease. In my defense though, my fingers are beginning to go numb from the cold air surrounding us.

"Want my help?" Christian asks, murmuring near my ear, his breath tickling me. I shut my eyes tightly, swallowing. He's far too close for comfort and yet, I do need his help.

"Please," I whisper. "I think my fingers are going numb."

As he stands from the bench in front of me, I think I see a smile playing along the corners of his mouth as he kneels down slowly in front of me to help. _Why does he seem even so overly happy that I need his assistance with putting on the shoes and tying the laces?_

"Thank you," I mutter while trying not to scowl as he easily begins unthreading the laces. With the first heavy shoe on, he pulls the laces and does it up painfully tight.

"They have to be tight, Anastasia," he explains, as if reading my thoughts. "You will be less likely to fall that way."

"I hardly think it's going to make any difference anyway."

I hold out my other sock-clad foot, and he takes it gently, helping to push it into the right skate. Girlish laughter brings my attention to the small group of people already skating on the rink. The little girl seems as though she is really enjoying herself at the very least; She's smiling as her mother scoots along close to the wall with her.

"Okay, we're done now," Christian informs me, and I inhale in deeply as I peer up at him, watching him stand in his skates. He doesn't look nervous or unsteady in his skates at all. "You ready?"

"I'm warning you now. I'm going to fall straight on the ice."

"Well, if you fall, I fall," Christian says, unable to hide his mirth. "Come on. Your safe with me."

He offers me a hand and I hesitate before getting it over with and just accepting it, letting him help me stand. It's hard to stand on ice-skates. They are so incredibly heavy and my not-so-completely healed sprained ankle aches a little at the heaviness and all the weight.

I try to get my hand free as we edge towards the rink with the blades on our shoes, only I notice he won't let me. He's holding my hand too tightly.

"Ready, Anastasia?" he asks me as we reach the beginning of the ice. I really wish he would let go of my hand yet, oddly, at the same time, I hope he never does and that he keeps me upright on the skates. It's a weird contrast, how I'm feeling. Something unexpected. I nod once, reaching with my free hand to grip tightly onto the barrier for support. "On the count of three. One. Two." Sucking in a deep breath, he finally mutters, "Three!" And we both allow our skates to touch the ice.

I can hear palpably my skates blades slicing through the ice as I inch close to the wall, holding on tight. Christian's the braver one; He only holds onto my hand, not anything else.

"Are you okay?" he asks me softly, his fingers tightening over mine.

"I... I think so. I might just stay close to the wall for a while though."

I breathe more easily once he lets my hand go. He goes off onto his own for a bit, striding on the ice, gliding over it with both feet in an effortless way, his gray eyes always watching me, making sure I'm okay and that I haven't fallen. Or maybe he's staring because he doesn't want to miss my reaction to him? I feel like he's hoping I'll look impressed or that I'll start laughing and smiling at what he's doing, and at how good he seems to be at skating, at how brave.

I scoot away so that I can't see him, focusing on shuffling against the wall. And then-

"Come on, Ana, give me your arm," he says suddenly right beside me. How he managed to skate so fast to me, I have no idea.

"What?"

"Give me your arm," he says, making it sound like an order. His voice, I don't like it. Him ordering me around, I hate it. Just like he ordered his curfews on me, and... everything else. "Give me your arm, Anastasia." Before I know what's happening, he's grabbing me by the wrist, his fingers overlapping it.

"Christian, don't! What are you-"

He lifts my arm, shoving it around his shoulders, behind the nape of his neck and the collar of his jacket. Before I can even protest further, he's pushing both of us away from the wall, forcing me to glide along with him further and further away from its safety.

"Christian, _don't_ ," I mutter, panicked. I glance over at him, my heart palpitating. Too close. Now we're too close. With my arm around his neck, around his shoulders, my face is barely inches away from his chest, the fabric of his unzipped jacket and his sweater. "Please, I want to go back to the wall where it's safe."

"Why?" Although he tries to sound calming and gentle in tone, I hear the edge there. The frustrated, hard edge. "You don't trust me?"

"No, I don't," I admit mulishly. "After everything that's happened, how you are so cryptic with what's happening with my mother, I don't trust you at all, Christian!" I realize my legs and arms are shaking as I peer down at the hard ice below us, probably foolishly.

"I meant what I said," he murmurs, moving closer somehow. His mouth comes close to my ear, unnerving me. His breaths are warm yet cloudy, a stark contrast to the ice and the air. "I'm not going to let you fall, Anastasia." Belatedly, it occurs to me that he has snaked his arm around my waist, holding me close. I'm stuck, leaning close against him, our bodies flush together on the ice. "I won't let you go." _He won't let me go? Why does he make it sound so threatening? Or like he's... meaning something else between the lines so completely as well?_

"What the fuck do you want from me, Christian?" I blurt out angrily. I'm so tired, so tired of being confused. So tired of not knowing what's going on.

"What do I want?" He repeats softly, a strange edge there. "Anastasia, _look_ at me." The roughness, the command in his tone, it catches me. I lift up my gaze to look at him nervously, the close proximity between us again too much. As he gazes back at me, holding my gaze, I notice his eyes change, the expression in them going softer, then somehow harder, darker, meaningfully. "You _know_ what I want, something I've... I've _always_ wanted." He's breathing raggedly, his lips slightly parted; I can tell he is panting because the low temperature from the ice makes his breaths misty.

Something he's always wanted? What?

"Since Robert and Carla's barbecue," he continues in a low, exasperated muttered breath. As if fed up by me not getting it, I feel the muscles and tendons in his arm clench around my waist as he pulls me up against him, tighter, rougher, harder. I wince as his mouth brushes against the side of my face. "I _want you_ , Anastasia."

The words harsh... low... annoyed, they float around in my brain. _I want you, Anastasia._

 _I want..._

 _You._

"I wanted you the second I laid eyes on you through the crowd at the barbecue."

 _I want you._

 _You._

Flexing my fingers and making a fist, I try to push away, shoving against the smooth leather of his jacket, trying to get my arm off his shoulders, his neck. No, I don't want to hear this. I don't. I can't.

" _Don't act_ naive or blind, like you didn't even consider it," he hisses, breathing sharply. I try again, twisting my arm, trying to get free from his mercilessly tight hold around my waist, but it's hopeless. He's just far too stronger physically- even on slippery ice with skates on. "Why do... _all of this_ shit? It's _because I wanted you_ , Anastasia. I saw you that day at the barbecue, and... I _wanted_ you and I've still _wanted you_ ever since."

"Let _me go_ , Christian," I say, panting laboriously. "Just _fucking stop_."

It appears to be the magic words. The second he drops his arm from around my waist, the second mine is flung off his shoulders and from around his neck, I push myself forward on the skates, putting secure distance between us, knocking up against the wall with my knees as I hold onto it tight again. I'm shaking, physically, mentally, emotionally drained and shell-shocked.

He _wants_ me. Ever since he first saw me at the barbecue, he's _wanted_ me.


	17. Compassion?

_**Chapter 17**_

I feel as if I can barely breathe as I manage to scoot along the wall and drag myself along the slippery ice towards the exit of the skating rink. His words, they play over and over inside my head, like a song, like the haunting lyrics to some bashing, head-throbbing heavy metal band.

 _"Why do... all of this shit? It's because I wanted you, Anastasia. I saw you that day at the barbecue and... I wanted you ever since."_

I manage to step out of the rink, treading onto the mat with the skates unsteadily.

 _"Don't act naive or blind, like you didn't even consider it..."_

But I hadn't considered it. I truly hadn't considered it even once, the possibility, the whole reason that he may have been doing this in the first place. I hadn't even entertained the thought that it may have been because he liked me. Not really. Well, okay, I may have seen a few little hints, in the ways he would look at me, always staring as if I was something different, something special, a mystery. But had I ever believed he may have liked and wanted me in 'that' major way? No, I hadn't.

Honestly, my mind had been far too busy stressing over everything else. Such as this sudden new situation I had been plunged into, where I had to leave Georgia behind to come live with him while Mom went off on her honeymoon with Bob. Also, trying to figure out this whole why-isn't-my-mom-contacting-me issue. As well as missing her, worrying about her. Hating her lack of absence.

Not once did it ever truly come into my mind that this guy may have had a thing for me.

Yet now, forced to realize it thanks to him, it all suddenly makes sense and puts a few things into clearer understanding. The funny looks, all the ways he seemed uncomfortable whenever I wore my skirts or my little tops that showed off some skin and belly. But then did my Mom know this? Was she aware of his little thing for me when she and Bob decided I may as well come stay as a guest in his home for the time during their honeymoon away?

I get to the seats where our shoes are, turning and sinking down into it weakly. I realize I'm shivering; Probably something to do with the chill in the ice shaking rink, rather than the actual confession of his thing for me. But while I'm shivering, while the breaths that I breathe out come foggy and misty from the low temperature in the rink, I lsop notice how strangely warm my face feels. I feel flushed, sweaty. I can feel perspiration beneath all the layers of the clothes I'm wearing, beneath my armpits.

All the little hairs on my body seem to stand on end as I lift my eyes, watching Christian gliding effortlessly towards the exit himself. Shit, he's coming over to me. I feel like I can barely think clearly. I mean, I have no idea what to think. Or even how I feel, no less, about his confession. How am I supposed to feel? All I can seem to feel is... squirmy inside. A little queasy. I cannot even wrap my brain around the idea properly.

As he steps off the ice, I notice how pinched his expression is, how creased his eyes are as he glances down at nothing else but the ground as he makes his way unsteadily towards the benches. He appears almost... embarrassed, I think? A little let-down? Maybe he was expecting a completely different reaction altogether? What, was I supposed to react positively after all the confusing shit that has happened?

 _Was I meant to throw my arms around him in glee? Holy shit, what does he want from me?_

His breaths are every bit as foggy as mine as he breathes unsteadily once he reaches to where I am, slumped over on the bench, sitting quietly. I notice he won't meet my gaze as he sinks down next to me while a hand reaches up to comb his fingers through his hair. He looks a little red cheeked, a little flushed. But I can't tell if it's the chilly weather in the rink or embarrassment that's doing it to him.

We sit for a couple of minutes on the bench, the only sound in the rink the sound of children's laughter and skates shredding up the ice. Happy little kids laughing... it sounds wrong, a bizarre contrast to the weird tension and awkwardness shared between Christian and I.

"So I suppose you want to leave right now?" He finally asks after several moments, an odd tone in his voice. I think it's disappointment. Disappointment or... frustration? I'm not quite sure what. "Taylor shouldn't be too far away from here. I can give him a call to come pick us up, and it shouldn't take him more than ten minutes if that's what you want?" I notice he still won't look at me. Instead, he drops his head, gazing down at his hands as he interlinks his fingers together.

I sort of do want to leave, actually. Leaving would mean avoiding this situation quickly, fleeing all the awkwardness and the shock. I still can't seem to wrap my head around what he has just said and it feels like a little time to process it would be good. Only, turning my head a little, looking at the side of his face, at how down he looks right now, how ashamed, I realize it wouldn't be fair on him to do that. Yes, fleeing this situation altogether would spare an awkward and uncomfortable conversation between us, only it wouldn't help how either of us are feeling right now. And I do have questions. I'm tired of not knowing anything, of always being in a helpless state of confusion where nothing makes sense.

"So... you 'want' me?" It sounds weird, the way it comes from my mouth, the sort-of question. But it's a start.

He still doesn't look at me or lift his head to. He simply nods once down at his hands, his throat muscles twitching as he swallows inaudibly. "Yeah, that's right, that's what I said," he murmurs softly. "I want you."

Even although he's told me it once already, it still startles me to hear it from him again. I just couldn't imagine why he would want me, really. I mean, what's so special about me? Why want me? "Since that day Mom and Bob had the barbecue, and you saw me and overheard me speaking to someone? You wanted me ever since that day?" It helps to make sense of it all if we could just go over this slowly.

"Yeah, Anastasia." His lips parts, his tongue coming out to sweep across his lower lip while he still avoids my gaze completely. "Ever since I saw you through the crowd, ever since... I overheard you speaking to someone, I wanted you." He shifts slightly on angle towards me with his legs and feet, but he still doesn't look up at me.

"But how?" I demand out loud, letting myself just say whatever question first pops up inside my head, letting both my confusion and skepticism show. "How can you... see someone from afar and just... decide that you want them?"

I try to think back to that day, yet again. I have brief memories of that day at the barbecue, of course, but I don't remember Christian being there. I'm pretty sure he never spoke to me or made himself known to me at all. _So how could he have wanted me then?_

"I sort of... watched you and listened to you." I realize I'm definitely not the only one feeling nervous and uncomfortable about speaking about this, when Christian closes both eyes and swallows again. "I stood right... behind you for a while." He stood right behind me for a while? Like lurking? "I was sort of... eavesdropping on your conversations with the other people there in attendance. And then.." He inhales in deeply before reopening his eyes again, focusing them back on his knuckles and laced fingers. "Then I heard you addressing Carla as your 'mother'. I knew you were Carla's daughter then, that your were... Robert's girlfriends daughter."

So that makes sense. He figured out I was Carla's only daughter. But then why not introduce himself to me instead of all the lurking and eavesdropping?

"Why didn't you introduce yourself to me then?" I ask quietly, shaking my head. When I'd first come to stay with Christian, my first reaction to him had been... wow. I had found him so good-looking, so hot. I'm sure a lot of other women would find him to be quite the looker as well, so why no introducing himself to the girl he apparently 'wanted' all that much? "If you were standing behind me like you say, listening to my conversations with other people, then... why not introduce yourself to me that day?"

"Because I hadn't..." He shakes his head a little at my question, his forehead creasing. "I hadn't had such a reaction like that to somebody before. I hadn't... felt that way before, something so... instantaneous simply by looking at someone and listening to them talk."

"Well, it would have made more sense than you just lurking around and eavesdropping, which... by the way, sounds a little creepy."

"I felt too... nervous." Christian shakes his head again as if in exasperation at himself. "Like I said, I hadn't felt that way before so suddenly. Plus, I haven't exactly... done the whole 'dating' thing."

"You don't do 'dating'?"

"No, never. I never have." My brow crumples at his honesty. What? He's never even dated? Surely that can't be right? I mean, he's handsome enough and is well-to-do. I imagine he'd find it pretty easy to date, or at least find some women that are interested in him. Even if he has shyness issues or whatever, surely he'd still find some interested women enough to date him somewhere.

"Truly?" I whisper dubiously. "You've truly never dated? Not even like... just one single date with a woman?"

"Truly? No, I haven't." At last he lifts his gaze, meeting my expression. There is nothing in his face, in his eyes, but total and utter sincerity. I can't believe it. Not even once?

"Even at your age? So like you've... never even had a girlfriend before?"

He must find something funny about the way I say it all, because the corners of his lips lift a little with a smile. "Really, Anastasia, I haven't. Not a real girlfriend, not an actual... traditional relationship." He lifts both hands, making finger air quotes at the 'relationship' part. "I mean, I've had certain... things going on with roughly three separate women at different times over the years but they weren't exactly what anyone would call your normal, traditional relationships."

I definitely find that sort of strange, especially at his age, then again, what would I know? Like I would even know what a 'traditional' relationship means, considering I've never had an actual boyfriend myself just yet despite being seventeen. But I think I have a few ideas of what I believe a traditional relationship to be, if my Mom's examples were anything to go by.

"I never introduced them to my parents, or to... the siblings," he continues, as if eager for me to understand, although there's some hesitance there in his tone as well. "I never took them out on... 'dates', like for example to dinner, to the movies, or... anywhere public. Never like what your traditional relationship would look like. No family introductions, no naming them as the partner, the girlfriend, the... significant other." He pauses to think his words over thoughtfully, his hand combing through his hair again slowly as he seems deep in thought. "No romance, no flowers, no chocolates. Nothing like that."

A little boy squeals on the ice. His grey eyes go directly to the source of the sound, and I turn to look as well. The little boy that's with his mother has slipped over on the ice, and she laughs as she helps pull him back up again.

"That's... why I didn't know how to approach you that day at the barbecue," he carries on, refocusing me back onto our conversation and what he's telling me, instead of gawking at the adorable little boy that is giggling with his mom. "My... inexperience kept me away. I'm not used to... trying to initiate something like that with someone, especially not in the... 'traditional' way." _There's that word again. Traditional._

I stare at him for a moment, thinking deeply on what he's revealing to me. I suppose it helps a lot, sitting down like this, having him actually talk to me, to finally gain some understanding into everything. For once he's actually not irritating me or getting me upset. It helps to understand him and his perspective a little more if he lets me in and lets me see it, even al;though it's hard to believe and it doesn't exactly make any sense.

I remember also what he told me, how he was fifteen and his Mom's friend spanked him. Totally wrong of her on so many levels and rather gross- but he obviously enjoyed the experience, as he's told me on numerous occasions. In fact, he told me it had continued for over six years, whatever sort of.. 'thing' they had together was.

"Your mom's friend that spanked you, you said it continued for six years?" I prompt. "That... I don't know, she... gave you freedom from responsibility and making decisions and all of that?" I'm still not entirely sure how that would work out, or what he even meant by all of that. "That... thanks to her and what she did in spanking you, she'd saved you from a life of addiction or that she disciplined you into being a 'better' person?" I can't even bring it up without making a weird face while repeating what he told me before. The nature of that relationship, it just seems so wrong and... bizarre. I can't even begin to fathom what he meant exactly when he had told me all of this.

Christian's eyes seem to light up at the memory, of me bringing it up into our conversation. "Yes, that's right. I was fifteen when it started between us and it continued for six years. With my mother's older friend Anastasia, yes." Again, he still speaks like it was such a special moment in time, a momentous occasion. That he can look at it like that and not even see how icky it was, how his mom's older friend preyed on him... My stomach squirms inside.

"Fifteen and it went on for six years, like you say?" I do the math inside my head while trying to push back those unnerved feelings. "So that meant you were like around twenty one when it ended between you two?"

"Yes, that's right. I was around twenty one when we ended it."

"So what? You never had any girlfriends after that?" After his mom's so-called friend spanked him and did what probably was other weird, totally-wrong shit with him? He was technically underage, which is disturbing enough.

"Well, like I said, there were... a few others," he explains, seeming pleased I'm able to follow him. "But they weren't your traditional relationship stuff. In fact, they were quite like..." He pauses for a moment, biting down on his lip. He seems unsure on whether to finish his sentence or not, but then I guess he decides he may as well. "They were exactly like I told you about with my mother's friend at fifteen, Anastasia. Those... relationships, they all mirrored each other."

I don't get what he is trying to say at all. They mirrored each other? What? Like the whole spanking scenario with the mom's friend? It-

Suddenly, it clicks into place. I shiver at remembering, my skin prickling with uneasiness. That night, coming home a little later than his silly curfew. Christian waiting for me in the foyer. Tripping over his feet, him standing over me from behind... Then him...

"You spanked them?" I breathe out, immediately certain of that yet sickened all at once. "Y-you would spanked them like the mother's friend did to you all those years ago? T-that was what your 'relationships' were like? Spanking, just exactly like you..." My insides flop unpleasantly, "L-like you spanked me that night?"

I feel sick. Spooked out by the realization but mainly sick.

" _I told_ you..." He trails off, his breathing going harsher, unsteadier. He closes his eyes briefly, that expression passing over him, the one where it's like he's sucked on something sour, something unpalatable. Like he feels sick himself. Well, good. He should feel sick with himself. "I just _told you_ how inexperienced I am with what people call your 'traditional' relationships, Anastasia. That... that's how they have always been."

"What?" I was wrong. Talking about it, trying to understand it all... it doesn't help at all. It just leaves me even more questions. It's sort of like delving into a nightmare, where everything gets worse and more horrifying by the second. "So, in your mind, that's how a relationship is initiated? That's what people do? They let you spank them and that's what makes them your... your girlfriend? That's how you initiate it?"

"That's not..." He snorts suddenly, a bitter twisted smile coming faintly across his mouth as he reopens his eyes to look over at me again. "That's _not what_ I meant. I didn't want to talk about all of this exactly, I didn't want to bring this up."

"What, so you thought because, typical reaction with those previous women when you spanked them, that I'd immediately fall for you and be into it too?" I ask deliriously, my voice rising at how stupid it all is, how ridiculous. "What, Christian? You thought I'd like it? Or that I... I'd immediately go, 'Oh, Christian, please. Spank me again!' Is that what you expected from me? You thought I'd react like that?"

"What?" His face changes immediately as my comment sinks in, something resembling sheer frustration and anger there. He clenches his teeth, his grey eyes flaring with some emotion I can't quite work out. "No, of course not," he grounds out through his teeth. "But when you..." He stops again, shutting his eyes for a second. Like he's trying to regain his calmness. "I meant what I said after it happened, Anastasia. It was an... impulsive thing, when I did it, something... reactive. When you didn't follow the rules, the curfew... I was worried about you not coming home. I thought something had happened to you, and when I get worried or angry I-" He pauses again to lick his lips, breathing in deeply through his nose. When he opens his eyes again, I see the anger is replaced with something else, something cooler. He's managed to calm himself down, at least. "I used to do it whenever I was angry or stressed. The spanking- everything. It used to be my first port of call, my immediate... response to something like that."

"So you're saying as, since you are used to doing that, it was something... automatic?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I mean. I wasn't doing it because I thought it would be a successful attempt at gaining your interests," he mutters under his breath, sounding like he's repulsed by the very thought. "I wasn't doing it because I wanted to turn you on or... whatever. I reacted impulsively to what you did, something I used to... always do."

"Something I did?" What did I do? Come barely a few minutes later than the time he said? Jesus. That was it, it wasn't even a very big deal.

"You disobeyed my curfew rule, you were late."

"It wasn't like I did it on purpose," I point out angrily. "I was just a few minutes late, Christian. Like two minutes, at the latest. Big frigging deal!"

"With one of them, we had very clear instructions: She were to come to my penthouse at strictly ten past five in the afternoon with no exceptions," he explains quickly, his voice rapid, loud. "It was a rule. If she broke it, I were to... to punish her in any way I please. By spanking, a lot of the time." I cannot believe what he is telling me. What sort of relationship is that? It's so weird, so bizarre and ridiculous. "When she was late and she kept me waiting, that was how it went."

"So you'd... spank her when she was late?"

"Yes, among... other things." I'm not even sure what I want to know what he means by 'other' things. "All my previous 'relationships' have been the same. They disobeyed me, they... pissed me off, I punished them. Sometimes, live a way for so long, it becomes ingrained into you, like second nature." He turns to look at me, his eyes searching mine deeply. Like he's desperately wanting me to understand. But I don't think I can. I don't think I can understand it at all. "You came back late, so what did I do? It's only natural I did what I'm used to." It's as if he's dismissing what he did, as if he's shrugging it off. I did what I did, this is what I do. No apologies.

"But... I'm not one of those girls?" I point out slowly. And thank God that I'm not. "What you did to me, back then, that night... you had no right to do that to me, Christian! It was... abuse and you violated me!"

"Well, it's what I know, Anastasia." He drops his gaze from me, down to his hands again as he bunches them both up into fists near his lap. "It's how I'm used to reacting."

"Well, if I hadn't made it clear enough on you already, it wasn't okay, Christian." I wrap my arms around my waist, a shiver passing through me, from my spine, downwards. Just speaking about it, I feel like we are back there again, to that horrifying night. To how he overreacted, how he scared me half to death by spanking me, hurting me on my backside.

It had been so violent, it had come out of nowhere. And yet he's still acting as though he hadn't done anything wrong to me that night. What he is saying may be true, he may be used to reacting like that, but so what? It doesn't make it right, does it? It's like a man growing up being witness to his dad hitting his mother. When he starts hitting his girlfriend, what?

He's excused because it's all he knows, it's what dad did to his mom all those years ago and he doesn't know any better? It's enraging.

"I see that now," he begins in a new, brighter tone, like he's starting a new topic that I'm not up to just yet. "I see it now, just how... wrong I was to do that. To how... wrong it was, to do that to you." His tone has gone softer, more serious. For once, he finally sounds truly remorseful, truly sorry for what he did. It won't fix everything but it's something. "When I did it, it just... pushed you away even more. Made everything harder."

I peek over at the side of his face, noticing the way his jaw muscles twitch as he swallows.

"I just... wanted you to want me in the way that I wanted you, I just didn't know how to approach it." He turns to look at me head-on, dead straight in the eye. It's unexpected, and I can't say I'm prepared for him to look me directly in the eye while saying stuff like this. "Can you say that you've... ever wanted something _so badly_ that you acted irrationally, Anastasia? You wanted something _so badly_ that it impaired your judgement?"

I'm the one to swallow dryly beneath his piercing, intense gaze. There's so much depth in his grey eyes, so much fierceness and raw feeling in them. I don't think I've ever noticed that before.

"N-no," I breathe out, then have to clear my throat. My voice is too weak, too wavering. I don't like it. "No, Christian, I can't say I ever have before."

"Well, it's that way for me." It takes my breath away, how he can easily stare deeply into my eyes while saying stuff like this. Emotional, intense stuff. Stuff no guy has ever really told me before. Honestly, I don't know what to think or how to even react. "I'm used to being ruthless, I'm used to getting my own way and succeeding in getting the things that I want."

Before I even know what's happening, he's somehow moved with one of his hands. I startle when I feel the tips of his fingers suddenly brushing against one of mine, his fingers icy cold from the low temperature in the skating rink. My knuckles seem to immediately begin to tingle in the places where he rubs gently with his fingers.

"What I _swear_ to you, is that... what happened that night, it won't happen ever again." His words are low and solemn as he remains staring deeply into my own eyes. "You didn't like it, it wasn't... the right way to get you, and I see that now. It was the biggest mistake I could have ever made, and I... hate myself for how strained everything is between us due to it."

Stomach and insides clenching, I finally manage to force myself to move my hand away, out of reach so he isn't touching the back of it and my knuckles anymore. He must notice the distance I have deliberately placed there between us because he stiffens, a frown curling his lips. But it's not my fault he's feeling sad at the distance I've placed between us, I tell myself, forcing my eyes away from him. I stare back out at the ice skating rink, at the mom and her son again as they glide happily on the ice together. The boy looks so happy with his mom, so excited. I can tell he loves his mother so much. I only wish I could hear from the woman I love so very much.

 _Oh, Mom._ Heavy-hearted and glum at where my thoughts have taken me, I force my eyes back to where Christian is, sitting beside me. I realize he now has a hand covering over his eyes and the half of his face.

"Veganism," I think I hear him murmur, his voice just audible enough for me to hear him.

"Yeah, what about it?"

"I thought veganism was about compassion?" Slowly, he removes his hand from his eyes, dragging it up past his forehead, into his hair. He won't look at me and that frowns still there. "About living with compassion?"

I have no idea why he's suddenly bringing that up for. It throws me a little. "It is," I murmur. "It's about living with compassion and eating with compassion, and standing for the fair treatment of ani-"

"-So what about humans?" he asks, his eyes finding mine again. There's something shining there in his eyes. Something sad, something hopeful. "Don't humans deserve compassion as well, Anastasia? Or is it all about the animals?"

Okay. He's definitely thrown me one. I have no idea what to say on that unexpected comment.

"You don't think humans deserve a little compassion as well, every now and then?" He's trying to make a point about something, but I'm not sure what. "Humans make mistakes and errors, they aren't perfect."

It sinks in a moment later as I stare him down while trying to contemplate on the hidden meaning of his words. Oh. He's asking for compassion, for forgiveness. Forgiveness for his 'error of judgment', him spanking me that night. But can I forgive him for that? Can I let it go and forgive him, under his assurance that he won't do it to me ever again?

"Don't humans deserve compassion as well?"

He makes me feel like a bitch, an asshole. And maybe I am a bitch? Maybe I am a horrible person that has treated him terribly? I don't know.

"Can you call Taylor?" I ask, deciding not to answer while nibbling onto my bottom lip. "I think I'm ready to leave now."

Something flickers over his face for the most fleeting moment but before I can decipher it, it's gone and he's sighing loudly while taking his hand out of his hair. "Okay." He nods, reaching down towards my feet. I'd forgotten we were still wearing the skates. He unties my laces for me so I can get out of them easily to put on my normal shoes, and he does the same, untying and removing his own. Then he brings out his phone, dialing Taylor's number to pick us up in the car. "Taylor, we're ready now," he says, while standing from the bench, peering down at me as I pick up both pairs of our skates. "Good, we'll see you outside..." There's a pause where Taylor must say something on the other line. Christian sighs heavily in response. "No, unfortunately I think we're done for the night. We won't be going anywhere else tonight."

Taylor must say something else to him but instead of waiting to hear Christian's reply, I start walking ahead to the desk to hand our skates back to the lady behind the counter. I don't feel entirely present and there as the lady smiles at me while accepting the skates back. All I can seem to think about, is what Christian and I just spoke about.

His confession of wanting me, of humans deserving compassion as well, not just the animals.

Back out on the street, it's silent between us as we wait for Taylor's car to pull up, Christian leaning on the wall beside me. It seems even colder outside compared to inside the skating rink. The wind cuts through my clothes and it's already really dark out.

"You should have warn a thicker jacket," Christian says, breaking the silence between us as we wait. He sounds scolding, like a father chiding his child. It's ridiculous.

"Yeah, maybe," I murmur, trying not to laugh out loud in annoyance. _Like he even has the right to comment._ "I'll survive a little coldness until I get back to the house." I see out of the corner of my eye him lift a hand towards me, and he starts rubbing me down through the sleeve of my jacket. "I'm not some fragile little girl, Christian. I can handle being a little cold."

"I know," he murmurs back, yet he doesn't stop rubbing me with his hand over my sleeve.

When Taylor finally pulls up with the car, I can only be silently relieved when I move forward towards the door and it gives me an excuse to make him stop touching me. And it's then that his words plague me all over again and I begin to question myself. Maybe _I truly am_ a horrible person. Maybe even a human, like Christian, does deserve a little compassion too?

 **So sorry for taking such a long time to update. Real life and family has kept me away, but I promise now that I have a lot more spare time that I will be uploading chapters a lot quicker. There is a lot more revelations in store to this. I hope you will still be interested :)**

 **A huge thank you to you all for your reviews and response to the story. I love reading what you all think and what you have to say, it makes it all the more interesting and exciting to me reading all your theories and thoughts on what is happening with Ana's mom's absence, etc. But the puzzle will all be revealed soon and I hope you will enjoy reading it when it does. As usual, please keep your thoughts coming, I truly do appreciate them! Hoping you are all well, safe and happy, lovely readers. x**


	18. Chapter 18

_**Temptation Builds- Chapter 18**_

Back in the car with Taylor driving, it's nice and snug and warm. I notice Christian double-checks that I have my selt belt securely clicked into place before he permits Taylor to start up the car to begin on the drive back to the house. Some orchastral music is playing for once, something mellow and dramatic that drifts off into the backseat around us through the speakers. I find myself pleased with at least some sound to keep my mind from overthinking everything.

Because I obviously don't want to look at him right now, it feels weirdly too hard to after everything we've spoken about tonight and especially his confession into wanting me, I glance outside the window on my side instead, gawking out Seattle of a night. The street lamps are lit up, the streets still fairly crowded and bustling with energy at this time of the evening. I look higher up into some of the buildings, noticing their lights are still on inside offices or shops. It's definitely different from Georgia, where everything felt so much more remote and less busy.

As the car has to pull up at a red light, it's then I both hear my phone vibrate as well as make a sound in my pocket. Biting down on my lip, I dig my fingers into my pocket, slipping my phone out. I discover it's from Kate.

 _Hey, girl. what are you up to tomorrow?_

I'm so relieved to hear from Kate again. It means a lot to me, having at least one friend that I feel I can not only trust, but also get along well with. I reply back to her:

 _Nothing, why? Want to come over for a visit?_

I hope she will come over for a visit tomorrow if she's free. I could really do with someone- someone _other than Christian_ , that is- to talk to. To put everything into perspective. I could definitely use her company right now.

My phone goes off with another text. I think I see the outline of Christian's head turn into my direction at the sound of it.

 _Of course, I'd love to. How about at 11.30 tomorrow morning? See you then?_

I peek over at Christian from where he sits in the backseat next to me, hardly surprised when he arches his brows at me in silent questioning on who is making my phone go off the way it is.

"It's Kate," I explain with a sigh. "She asked if it's okay if she comes around for a visit to the house tomorrow." I make it sound sort of like a question, not that I'm even really seeking his permission. "I think I'd really like to see her."

"That's fine," he simply says softly.

Well, so long as he's okay with it. I feel all the tension in my body immediately release now that I seem to have his blessing. I reply back to Kate's text quickly, giving her the affirmation before shutting my phone off and putting it away back into my pocket.

"So long as that boy doesn't turn up like last time," Christian adds, with a strange edge there in his voice.

" _Boy_? You mean Jose?"

"Yeah, Jose. You _know_ the conditions. No boys allowed, just girls."

"Well, Kate never mentioned anything about inviting Jose along with her," I point out, cringing at the memory of that day she'd come around with him. It had been so mortifying having Sawyer coming to the door and basically threatening Jose out. I don't particularly want a repeat of that memory, that's for sure. "Besides, I think Kate got the message loud and clear after she brought him over the last time and had to witness Sawyer kicking him out."

I stare down at my fingers in the dark, knotting them together in my lap as I swallow against the angry lump that has formed in my throat at the memory. Just even thinking about it... what happened, it still enrages me but honestly I feel too tired to put up a fight about it tonight.

As we finally reach the house at Pine Street and Taylor pulls up at the curb, Christian climbs out of the car and walks over to my side to open my door for me. I unbuckle my belt and climb out, making sure I've got the keys to the door out of my jeans. I don't expect Christian to walk me up to the front door. A part of me honestly prefers that he sort of wouldn't, but it's obvious he has other plans in mind when I hear him say something to Taylor while shutting the back door of the car loudly.

"You don't have to walk me to the front door," I say when he gestures with his arm for me to start walking up the driveway. "I'm sure I'll be fine by myself."

"Well, I want to." His tone makes it clear that he's hell-bent on doing it, and that I can't sway him otherwise.

"Um, okay then," I give in, walking past him. The sound of his footsteps on the concrete tells me that he's following right behind me and is straight on my tail.

Once I get to the front door, I slide the key into the door to unlock it while Christian stands beside me. It's a little tricky because it's so dark, but I manage after a few tries. I push it open, stroking with my hand blindly to find the light in the hallway. I click it on, illuminating our surroundings and the inside of the house suddenly.

And, as I suspected, the house is quiet and just as we left it to go ice skating earlier. Empty, silent.

"Well, it looks as it always has to me," I murmur, twiddling with the set of keys with my fingers. "I think I'll be safe all alone by myself."

I feel immediately nervous for some reason as I turn back to look at him. Well, more nervous in front of him than I usually feel anyway. I think it might have something to do with what we talked about tonight, what's caused all of this. I mean, how can you not feel a little nervous when some guy admits to wanting you in 'that' way? And not only just 'wanting' you, but apparently wanting you 'so badly' that they couldn't even think straight. It's really a lot to take in.

Christian leans against the open door with his shoulder, and as I look past him, I can just make out the outline of Taylor still waiting on the side of the road in the running car. When my eyes dart up to Christian's face, I realize he's staring directly at me. I sort of feel like he's expecting something from me. What does he want? What is he waiting for? What more is there to say?

 _Or is he... dare I even begin to think it..._

I swallow dryly as his gray eyes drop to my mouth before trailing back up to my own eyes again. His look is suddenly intensely indecisive and uncertain. _Desperate_ even. Like he's battling inside internally with whether to follow through on whatever impulse he is struggling with or not.

 _Is he-_

 _Is he waiting for me to kiss him goodnight?_

Startled and weirdly taken aback by the thought that comes across my mind, I glance away from his face, embarrassed. It takes me a second to think of what to say. "Um, so thanks for tonight and for, um, taking me out to the ice skating rink," I manage awkwardly. "It was actually... pretty nice to do something different, something that I haven't done since I was a kid."

I allow myself a quick glance up at his face again. I see his lips part as he raises a hand to run his fingers through his hair, his eyes narrowing a little. His expression falls a little, and then he leans off the door at last with his shoulder.

"Yes, me too, Anastasia. I thought it was nice myself." His tone sounds slightly disappointed, like he's mad at himself. "I'll let you go. Have a good night. Call me if you need anything."

"I will," I promise with a forced smile, although I hardly think I can see that happening.

With a last curt nod at me, he turns, striding back down towards where Taylor is waiting in the car, his arms lifting as he uses both hands to run them through his hair at the same time.

I watch as he opens the back door and disappears inside the car. Then as Taylor starts to drive the car away from the curbside, it's then I finally close the front door up completely. And latch the lock securely into place.

I'm hit by how quiet it is, being alone in the house. I decide I could make so with a cup of tea so I head into the kitchen, flicking on the light while switching on the kettle and grabbing a clean mug and tea bag. I never once thought I'd be living alone, in a house completely to myself, especially at seventeen, and yet here I am. It happened all so quickly. It's so odd without having my Mom here. Usually, back in Georgia living with her, she was always around so it was never quiet when I came home. Now it's deathly quiet. Sort of lonely too.

Once the kettle flicks off I pour the hot water in, letting the tea bag defuse while grabbing the soy milk out of the fridge. When it's done I head into the living room, switching on the TV just for some mindless background noise while kicking off my shoes and lying back on the comfy and spacious couch.

My conversation with Christian tonight at the ice skating rink comes back to me. I feel so confused.

It's funny. When I was fifteen I was sort of infatuated with the idea of having a real boyfriend, of the thought of having a guy actually want me in a romantic way. I used to love reading books, like Jane Eyre, with the flawed and charismatic hero. I crushed hard on Heathcliff in Wuthering Heights, blown away by how devoted he was to Cathy and how he went to such miserable lengths all due to his complicated love- and grief- over her. It's odd to know now that apparently someone wants me. I just don't know what to think or how to even feel no less.

Reaching over, I grab my mug, holding it to warm up my fingers while nursing it on my knee. He wants me. He apparently wants me. I honestly hadn't even thought of it being a possibility. My grief over my mother's absence, I think that has taken up most of my time. And all the confusion. All of the weirdness of her not responding to my calls or texts, of not knowing where she is on her honeymoon with Bob or even when she'll be back and what is happening.

But back to Christian's comment. About how while veganism stood for compassionate living towards animals... shouldn't that extend to humans as well?

I suppose, thinking back to my behavior of late, I _have_ been anything but compassionate towards him. I've been bratty. Ungrateful, too. But acting grateful, it's been the furthest thing from my mind... not when knowing my mother won't respond to me, that she won't let me know what's happening with her.

I bring the mug up to my lips, inhaling in the steam, then blowing on it, hoping to cool the tea down while thinking everything through. I cannot understand what good reason he would have, if any, to want me. I can't understand for the life of me what he saw in me that day at the barbecue, something that apparently made him want me so much. His face flashes in my mind from when I said goodbye to him tonight, how he had looked suddenly so desperate yet so uncertain.

It really appeared as if he was struggling on whether he should do something, and I'm fairly certain that something was maybe kissing me goodnight. _And after knowing now that he wants me in 'that' way, after he pretty much confessed it to me tonight..._

All those lingering looks. How uncomfortable he'd get over seeing my exposed belly, some of my skin. That night I'd fallen asleep in the car, how he'd carried me inside and upstairs to bed. The way I'd noticed he had kissed me on the patch of skin on my shin before he left the room; a quick peck with his lips, as if it had all gotten too much and he couldn't have resisted himself at the time knowing that I was half-asleep and not entirely in the right frame of mind to properly notice it.

And now I know. All those little looks, the touchiness over some exposed skin from the outfits I wore. It was all because he wanted me. I guess it makes some things about his behavior and reaction to me understandable.

But what I cannot understand is what he told me about tonight, about the relationships he had previously had with a few women. Spanking them as punishment, setting rules like a time curfew. What sort of relationship is that? What he told me about his previous relationships with women and how they were, those are things I don't understand. I can't understand a relationship like that or make any sense of it.

Even with his mother's female friend, how he apparently had a relationship with her that lasted six years. It started by her spanking him, then according to him... it extended to them taking turns spanking or whatever. Then it carried on into his other relationships with women, where he'd spank them or something. The idea of a relationship like that... it doesn't make sense to me at all. He clearly can't see anything wrong with even the relationship he had with the older woman despite being underage, his mom's friend.

Even just thinking about it all, trying to make some sense and find some reason into it, his past relationships... it does my head in. It's just beyond understandable to me. It just makes my head feel like it's being crushed in, even just with trying to make sense of it all. It's doing me no good right now, thinking about everything so purposefully, I try to focus on the TV screen, flicking the channels for something of interest to capture my attention.

At least Kate will be coming around tomorrow. Something to look forward to.

* * *

"Hello? Darling? Are you home?"

When I wake in bed the next morning, it's to the sound of woman's voice calling out to me. My eyes pop open, startled by a stranger's sudden intrusion and entrance into the house. Immediately I climb out of bed, hardly caring that I am only dressed in a baggy tank top and track pants.

As I dash out of the bedroom, the owner of that voice suddenly comes into view. The woman's currently in the kitchen, numerous Tupperware containers resting on the bench. As I enter the kitchen while blinking heavily, she turns from rummaging around in the refrigerator and that's when I finally make out who the woman is. _Oh._ My heart pounds furiously, then seems to steady at the realization of who it is.

"Oh, no," Gail smiles apologetically, taking in my appearance. I must still look half-asleep, with messy bed-hair and all. "I am so sorry for waking you up, honey. I assumed you would have been awake by now."

"Gail, hi." I force a smile on my face, even although I'm really confused. What is she doing here? How did she even get in here in the first place, unless she also has a spare key? "Um, how did you manage to get in here?"

"Oh, I have a copy of the house key like Mr Grey does. He thought it would be a good idea if I had one of my own." What? He did? "Mr Grey suggested I cook a batch of food for you. He was worried that you weren't eating enough so I made you some food to last over the week." She slaps a hand down onto one of the Tupperware containers on the bench. "There's tofu scramble. Black bean stir-fry. All you need to do is reheat it all in the microwave."

Oh. She made food for me? Christian told her to make me some food because he was concerned I wouldn't be eating?

"Oh, um, thank you, Gail," I can only manage, surprised. I really wasn't expecting her to do this for me. "You really didn't need to bother, though. I hope it wasn't too much trouble for you."

"Nonsense." She waves my comment away dismissively, reopening the fridge door again. She grabs some of the containers, tucking them away onto the shelves. "It isn't too much trouble at all, darling. Making Mr Grey happy makes me happy. He won't be able to eat himself if he frets too much that you yourself aren't eating anything substantial. It was the least I could do."

"Well, thank you," I murmur again gratefully. "I really wasn't expecting you to do that."

"Well, like I said, a happy Mr Grey makes me just as happy. Just reheat the food in the microwave."

"Thanks, Gail." Once Gail manages to find a spot for the last container, I walk out to the front door with her, still in a state of shock. I really wasn't expecting Gail to pop by. Especially not her just coming in through the front door like that. I had no idea she even had a key to let herself in, but the fact that she thought to bring me food, especially some of her delicious cooking creations, I'm grateful.

And also nervous at what this means. I'll have to call Christian and thank him for caring about whether I'm eating enough food or not. But he's probably at work and I don't want to interrupt him, so I make a mental note to definitely call him later tonight once I'm done having Kate visiting.

Since I'm already awake now, I head back into the bedroom, making up the bed neatly. Then I grab a fresh pair of clothes for the day, and head into the bathroom to have a quick shower so I am ready and dressed for when Kate she does, she knocks on the door loudly and I smile while rushing to open it, letting her in.

"Hey, you," she says. "How are you?"

"Hey. I think I'm good." I hug her, then shut the door, following her into the kitchen to make us a cup of tea.

Kate looks around the house again while I busy myself in making our drinks. I can tell she's so happy to be around me... and it makes me happy in return. "Like before, I am _hell envious_ of this place," she says as she comes back from her tour. "Don't you get scared living here alone?"

"Sort of. At night it gets a little scary. And lonely." I make a face while stirring the soy milk into our drinks. "I guess it takes time to adjust to it all, since I'm so used to being back in Georgia where I lived with Mom. It's weird being in a house completely alone by myself."

"Hmm, yeah, I bet it would be." She smiles at me sympathetically. "Speaking of living with your Mom, any news from her yet?"

"Nope, still nothing. I still haven't heard from her, but I assume she must be having a great time on her honeymoon or something. It's still worrying me though."

I hand Kate her drink and we head into the living room, sitting down on the comfy couch together. She's wearing a really cute blue-and-white bluebird jumpsuit with puffed sleeves and suede ankle boots, her long blonde hair tied up into a messy ponytail.

"Love your outfit," I tell her, and she beams at me.

"Thanks. It helps working at the market place every weekend for a little extra bit of cash to afford to buy new clothes. This is one of the latest ones I've brought, I think it's really cute."

I'd met her at the market place selling homemade bracelets and jewelry but I hadn't really asked much about it. "How's it all going?"

"Yeah, really good. Only thing is my brother Ethan, who you met briefly, he's come down with the flu. He's not too sure he will be well enough to help with the stall this weekend. And you know how guys get when they get the flu." She rolls her eyes and I can't help laughing at her. "They ge _t so overly_ dramatic!"

"Oh, that's no good that he's sick though."

"Yeah, I know. It sucks, but..." Her eyes brighten with an exciting idea. "If you are interested, you could always fill in for him this weekend and help me? It would be an easy way to make a little cash and plus, it would give us a good chance to hang out again? All you really have to do is help me set up and then sell?"

My heart lurches at the prospect of getting the chance to spend some more time with her again on the weekend. I know Christian was strict about all this ridiculous curfew stuff but I couldn't imagine him having a problem with it. "Really? I'd love to help you out!"

"Awesome, that would be so great." How genuinely ecstatic she is, it blows me away. "It would be cool. And it isn't hard or anything like that, it's super easy. Plus, you can make a little cash too. Not a lot admittedly but... still. You'd just have to meet me on Saturday at the market place early at, say, around 6.30 AM?"

"Kate, I'd love to."

"Awesome! But would you need to ask that guy for permission first?" Immediately, I know who she is hinting to. "That Christian guy? Surely he wouldn't mind, would he?"

At the mere mention of him, I feel a little funny. My stomach knots and twists with jittery spasms. "I can't imagine him not letting me do it. He shouldn't have any problem with it. And besides, I shouldn't need his permission for this sort of thing." _At least I hope not_. Oh, well, who am I kidding? _Even_ if Christian had said no, I probably would _still_ be doing it anyway. He's not my parent after all.

"How's it all going with him anyway?" she asks concernedly.

I make a nervous face and she laughs. It must say it all for her.

"How's it going with all the curfews and that? And not to mention that day when that guy kicked Jose out of here?"

"Yeah, about that. I'm so sorry. I really hope Jose wasn't too offended by that."

"Jose was a little at first, but then he got over it." She shrugs, sipping at her tea. "So how are things going?" she prompts, still on the subject.

"Well, the nine thirty curfew is still in place of an evening. And he demanded to take me out one night every week to a place of my choosing. Last night we went to this place where they have an ice skating rink."

"Oh, yeah. I think I know the place. Pretty sure I've been there a few times myself." She eyes me. "So demanding to take you out one night of every week, huh?" I hear the interest in her voice, combined with surprise. "Sounds a little... datey, if you ask me? Was it like a date last night?"

I force myself to swallow down a few mouthfuls of tea to buy myself some time. I honestly hadn't expected her to ask me that. And really dread having to answer it. "Um, I... I'm not sure," I admit. "But last night, he... um, he admitted to wanting me."

My worst fears come true when she latches onto the 'wanting' part. "He admitted to _wanting_ you?"

"Yeah, like... he saw me a couple of months ago at a barbecue my Mom and Bob were holding at the house. Apparently he wanted me ever since that day."

" _Wanted_ you?" she repeats, sitting up a little. "As in... romantically? Like... _sexually_?"

I cringe at her choice of words, squirming a little. Is that what he meant? He wants me sexually? Romantically? "Um, I...I assume that's what he meant, Kate, yeah."

" _Wow_." She arches her perfectly shaped brows at me. "And do _you_... um, want him too?"

Purposefully, I drag my eyes down to the liquid in my mug. Looking at her suddenly feels too hard right now. I suppose I hadn't really thought of that before, whether I'd actually wanted him. I've been trying to work out my feelings towards his confession last night, but honestly... I still don't know what to think. Or how I even feel. "I honestly haven't really thought of it, Kate," I admit nervously. "I didn't even really... think it was possible for him to want me or even be interested in me in 'that' way. I've been too busy focusing on Mom's absence and being worried for her."

"Yeah. I suppose you've had a lot on your mind to even think about it."

"I mean, at the start, when I first met him, I definitely thought he was... good looking," I admit to her. "And the few times we were working out in his gym room, I admit that I... sort of perved and admired his physique." I shrug, taking another sip of my tea. "But he's secretive. And bossy. Super bossy and almost... disciplinarian, as you well know, what with the curfew and all. It's sort of like he's a parent, bossing me around and laying all of these rules onto me."

"You know, that day when he marched into the hospital when you sprained your ankle...I _definitely thought_ something was going on."

"You did?" I ask her, surprised.

"Yeah. When he came in, he looked... super worried. And like he wanted to inflict pain back onto whoever was responsible for hurting you. If _someone had_ hurt you, that is..." I know he was really concerned about what had happened to me, but I hadn't really seen it that way. "And when you left with him, how he was like... refusing to leave your side and wanted to help you out the door. You can tell he really cares about your well being and safety."

I find it so therapeutic, speaking to Kate about this. And also... she sort of helps put things into perspective. He does clearly care about me, doesn't he? Making Gail drop in food for me this morning so I wouldn't go without if I didn't feel up to cooking anything. Letting me stay in this house. And, as Kate says, how clearly concerned he is about my well being and safety. I hadn't thought of it that way before. I'd just seen it as something incredibly ridiculous and annoying.

"I suppose he does care," I agree reluctantly. "Even if the way he goes about it is incredibly... annoying and forceful."

"Well, _clearly_ he feels protective of you."

"I guess so."

"So, with all that said and done..." Kate puts her mug onto the coaster on the coffee table and sits up on the couch, dragging her knees up to her chest so she can sit more comfortably, "It brings me back to my previous question. Do _you_ want him too? Or could you even... _see yourself_ wanting him?"

"I don't know, Kate. I can't even work out how I feel... about anything." Finishing and swallowing the last mouthful of my tea, I reach over to put my own empty cup on a coaster. "I just... I feel like I'm in stalemate right now. My whole entire life is in stalemate."

"What do you mean?"

I hadn't told anyone else about how I've been feeling, but with Kate, knowing that I can trust her and that she'll listen. It really helps right now.

"I just feel like... if I could hear from my Mom, even if it's just a short text just to let me know she's okay. Or even a phone call, just to know what's happening with her. I feel like my life's in stalemate, like I sort of can't move forward until then. My life's stuck in limbo right now, where all I can seem to do is just... worry about Mom. Worry or anxiously wait for a sign from her."

Kate reaches over on the couch and she pats my hand consolingly with hers. I wasn't expecting that- to be consoled. Her fingernails are painted a very bright, very positive yellow.

"It would just be good to know what's happening, you know? Like I don't even know whether to start applying for colleges because I keep expecting her to suddenly come back and take me back to Georgia. It's like I'm in stalemate, in that sense. I'm afraid that... if I do start moving on, if I do start college or whatever..." I shake my head, trying to figure out how to properly express it all. It feels so hard, but Kate's so nice. She actually stays quiet, waiting to hear me out, her fingers rubbing my knuckles soothingly. It means so much to me. "If I could just get a sign from her, you know? A sign that tells me its okay to start moving on, to stop waiting for her to suddenly reappear and take me back to Georgia?"

"Well, maybe you should just bite the bullet," she says quietly, thoughtfully. "Maybe you _should_ start thinking about college, because I am too. We could go to college together and I think then you'd be a lot more happier instead of just being stuck in limbo, like you said, waiting for your Mom. I mean, even when she _does_ come back... don't you think she'd be so happy to see how you've willingly taken action for your own life in attending college and how you've matured?"

I bite my bottom lip, tugging it between my top and lower teeth contemplatively. She's definitely given me a lot to think about.

"Damn. You give really _great_ advice," I tell her appreciatively.

"See. That's all you need to do, right?" She laughs at my remark, squeezing my hand gently at the knuckles. "Let's go to the same college together, and, eventually, when your Mom does come back, she will be so proud of you and how you've handled yourself without her."

"I definitely want that," I admit. "I definitely want Mom to be proud." I do. I really, really do. "Thank you," I mutter, and I find I suddenly have to blink back tears. "It means so much, having someone to actually talk to. And like I just said, you give _such good_ advice!"

Kate must notice that I am on the verge of tears because, startling me, she laughs again and moves closer. Before I know it, her arms are around me and we're both hugging tightly while I'm an emotional wreck. I cry and I laugh, but it's only because I realize she's right. I've been stuck in limbo, waiting for Mom, putting my life on hold when really... I need to stop waiting and start doing. Kate's right. And the thought of making my mother proud when she returns from her honeymoon, wherever she is... it's a powerful enough motivator.

It's time to start living. While secretly, within... I can wait and pine for Mom to return, to even call me or text to let me know she's okay or what's happening, I can also get a start on doing what I should be doing. Which is living life, making a conscious decision on my education. _For Mom. For me._

 ** _Thank you all so much for your reviews, I appreciate them. :)_**

 _ **A little scared off due to some guest reviews saying the story is dumb and that my writing is horrible. I'm sorry if it is. :/ I'm also sorry for it being slow, I enjoy stories where time is taken to know the character's motivations and reasons for doing things. So I'm sorry if the pace is really slow, it will be gaining momentum now that Ana has made a conscious decision to stop waiting and start moving on with college, etc.**_

 ** _Of course, there is still the mystery of what's happened to Mom and her lack of contact, which will be revealed soon. As probably noticed by now, I am a fan of hopefully building suspense and making you all guessing. I do hope the story isn't entirely horrible written, I do try my best :/_**


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